Woodsmoke
by albino-yaoi
Summary: The hushed, cold land bears a small cabin in its bosom, and Ryou awakes to find himself alone with a being he has never met - yet has heard so much about. Long drabble, deathshipping, eventual gemshipping and rustshipping
1. Chapter 1

It was the woodsmoke that set Ryou off.

Sickly sweet, yet with a hint of grit, it rolled into his nostrils in thin, invisible tendrils. He shifted his hand, sweeping it across something soft and stringy. He recognized it as fur, and his mind continued to weave itself out of a fog, the snapping of a fire crackling in his ears. He blearily opened his eyes, staring up at a wooden ceiling, slightly confused at how close it was to him. He slowly realized he was in a bunk. He blinked as he looked over at the wall, logs protruding, weaving like perfect ocean waves. He sighed heavily, rolling over onto his side as he stared into the rest of the room.

It was small - with a kitchen, two other bunks, a table and a wood stove. The kitchen wasn't even much of a kitchen, just a few counter tops cluttered with dishes. Heavy, cast iron pots and pans hung on the wall. Completely devoid of a sink, refrigerator or cook stove. The wood stove sat in the middle of the room, heat flowing from it like hellfire. It was an older one, ornate cast iron with nickel plating. A small frying pan lay on the top, empty and hot.

The table was a hodge-podge sort of thing, something made out of scrap wood. The chairs weren't even chairs, they were logs and stumps too big for the woodstove. A single window sitting above the table cast a dim light through an otherwise dark area. He dully realized he was in a cabin of sorts. Small, but cozy. Yet who did it belong to? The owner wasn't here - not from what he could tell.

He shifted from the bed, rolling his legs around as his feet touched the wood floor. He was suddenly aware of the various scratches and bruises that littered his body, that ached when he moved. Agitated, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, blinking heavily. He slowly tested his strength, raising himself away from the bed. His legs were slightly wobbly, but not enough to where it would hinder him. His clothing consisted of a large t-shirt and loose shorts, neither of which he recognized. He furrowed his brows in surprise, slightly disturbed. Rising his arms above his head, he stretched out as he eyed the cabin for a sort of note. His body ached as he moved, and he felt his shoulders pop. He felt a sharp pain in his side, and poked at it from beneath his shirt, realizing it was a large cut. Rubbing it gently, he stuck his gaze on the table.

A few books cluttered the table. He took note of their titles and contents, slightly perturbed. Sociology, psychology, human relations, body language. He began to imagine the owner of this cabin was socially inept. Or merely interested in how people were, and how to get into their heads. How to break them. He knew all about that sort of thing, and he didn't want to be in the presence of another individual like that.

Ripping his eyes away, he began to walk around the small cabin, careful not to get too close to the stove. The heat billowed off of it, dangerously hot. He explored the small kitchen, feeling slightly guilty when he sifted through the boxed crates on the floor, looking for something to eat. He found a few grains of rice and hard crumbs of something he couldn't recognize.

Sighing, he walked over to the other two bunks, wondering if perhaps someone may be sleeping in one. They were piled with blankets, sleeping bags and furs. Upon closer inspection, he realized there was also clothing and odd trinkets. He ran his hand over the smooth surface of a clay item, realizing it was an ocarina. It was painted with folkart, bright and colorful like that of Mexico. Kind of neat. An old guitar lay atop another bunk, crude drawings sketched into it. He plucked at the strings playfully before leaving it alone. On a lower bunk lay some sort of boxed case, the black paint chipping away. Several knik knaks and books also lay strung across the bunks. He ran his hand over some of them before averting his attention elsewhere.

He noticed there wasn't any indication of a toilet or restroom, and this frustrated him.  
Walking away from the bunks, he went over to the door. It was large, thick and well made. The hinges were of wooden pegs, layered and intricate. With great effort, he pushed it open, and a front of cold assaulted him. It was completely white outside, and the cold wrapped around his bare feet like icy daggers. He poked his head out, looking around. His breath fogged in front of him as he assessed the area. He was in a forest, the trees dark and bare, encased with snow. A trail through the snow led away from the door of the cabin, out into the woods. It broke off in several areas, going to different sides of the cabin and behind it. He supposed it was the owner's trail. On one side of the trail lay an old snowmobile, bright oranges and yellows a striking difference in the dull landscape.

He glanced around his immediate area outside the door, realizing there was a porch that he had overlooked. Not a hard thing to do, considering it was small, with piles of wood on either side, flush against the walls of the cabin. Old, rusty traps hung from the wall, along with various skulls and antlers, cracked and sun-baked. "Hello?" he shouted out. His voice echoed back without an answer. "Hello?" he shouted out, once more. He strained to hear a reply, but none came.

He looked around nervously, stepping outside and onto the porch. The cold ripped through the bottom of his feet as he stepped off to one side of the porch, eyeing for an outhouse. Looking to the ground, he noticed a small area of snow was yellowed and sunk in, and he dully realized this was a makeshift quick-toilet that he would make use himself.  
After relieving himself, he clicked his tongue and retreated back into the warmth of the cabin, the door making a loud thump as he closed it.

Deciding to wait it out, he went over to the table. Nudging one of the makeshift stools away from the table, he set his hands on top of the surface, balancing himself, and plopped down. The rounded log was uncomfortable and stiff, and he attempted to adjust himself for a more comfortable position, but it was in vain. He reached for one of the sociology books, peering at the various bookmarks protruding from the top of the pages, and began to seek out the individual pages in which they resided, interested in what parts the owner of the cabin had been looking at.

The boy was awake.

He had heard the shout. The sound of a voice, something foreign and strange in this cold, barren wasteland. Sniffing, he raised himself from his parry, wiping his brow with his arm, encased in fur.

He lifted the lifeless form of a white rabbit from the snow, its entrails leaving a stark red tattoo in the white snow. He began the slow trek back to his cabin, bowing his legs for the girth of his snowshoes.

Ryou suddenly heard footsteps, and his stomach jumped into his throat. He heard shuffling for a moment, a couple bumps and clatters. Maybe it wasn't footsteps. Maybe it was some sort of animal. Frozen, he watched the door open, his hand still sitting on the pages of the sociology book. A dark skinned boy walked in, quickly scanning the room before meeting the gaze of the individual sitting at his table. His nose was red from the cold, his eyes drowsy.

Ryou cocked his head slightly in surprise, "You. I know you. You're that one guy," he blurted out, before he could stop himself.

"...Yeah." the other answered. He closed the door behind him.

"No, no that sounded stupid. I mean - you're from Battle City. Right? Malik, I think."

"I...I don't..." he trailed off. "I'm not Malik. Not really."

"You look like Malik."

He sighed, "I'm...Malik." He looked to the side, refusing to make eye contact. His face was set in anguish. The suddenness and direct assault of the boy's words cutting through him like a knife. This was not what he expected when he had returned. "But I am also not Malik. Do you...do you understand?"

"...I don't know. What are you called? What is YOUR name?"

And that was it. He didn't know what his name was. He had always thought that HE was Malik. But now he knew the truth, that he was simply an alternate personality, a coping mechanism against all the pain and hatred. As the books had told him. He was a being who, by all rights, shouldn't even exist as he did now. He blamed it on the ancient, dark magic of the Millennium Items. Of the Millennium Rod, which fed off of his darkness, and in turn made him more powerful. More poignant. It used him, as he had used it. It was an ancient magic that could never, ever be fully understood or controlled.

His face suddenly felt hot and wet. He removed his gloves, throwing them onto the floor near the stove. His hand went up to gently dab his cheeks. His fingers came away wet and sticky, and he was confused at the pain in his chest.

"I don't know my name," he whispered back, sad and broken.

The boy in front of him stared, upset with himself for making the other cry. He felt awkward and ashamed for the other boy. "That's alright. We'll figure it out. Um. I'm Ryou. Ryou Bakura."

"I know."

A heavy silence resonated in the room as the not-Malik began to remove the layers of furs and coats from his body, stripping down to nothing but a shirt and a pair of longjohns. Ryou took in his disheveled appearance. Ashy-blonde hair frayed out as if he had been electrified, gnarled and unruly. Heavy lidded eyes stared at nothing in particular, bags residing beneath the dull, violet orbs. A tired, gaunt -yet still handsome- face with dark tattoos framing the tops of his cheeks. Skin as dark and smooth as chocolate milk. His body was lithe, but Ryou could see the small indications of muscle through the thin clothing.

Not-Malik threw the coats and furs on one of the bunks, then turned to Ryou, "Are you hungry?" he asked. The boy's voice was thick and gritty, as though he were sick. Or perhaps he didn't use it often.

Timidly, Ryou nodded his head.

Unabashed, the tanned boy wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, walking over to the kitchen. He reached for an old blue jar, popping the glass lid off by sliding the metal frame away. He dipped his fingers into it, a wad of fat curling into his hold. He placed the jar back on the counter, then walked over to the stove, flicking the fat into the pan that lay on top.

It melted down and sizzled quickly, and the tanned boy walked over to the bunk that Ryou had woken up in. Ryou realized, with some surprise, that there was a cellar door in the floor. It didn't go down very deep, as not-Malik merely reached his hand in to bring something back out. He threw something red into the pan, and let it sit.

"So," Ryou mumbled, "What should I call you? I mean -"

A deep, violet gaze met his own, and Ryou involuntarily shuddered. His eyes were so dead. Devoid of happiness, of any inkling of life. They were sad, lethargic and dull, "I don't know," was the answer that was mumbled back.

Averting his gaze, Ryou began to ponder. "What have others called you? Any names that stuck out, or striked your interest?"

The tanned boy looked away to the wall, shrugging to himself. "Demon, monster, shadow-child, freak. Others I can't really remember."

Ryou looked at him closely, saddened as he studied the other boy's lonesome face. Suddenly it clicked, and he felt very, very, very stupid for not realizing it sooner. He blamed it on his still sleeping mind, and weary confusion. This was the darkness that Malik had created - the one that had banished Ryou's body to the shadow realm, the one that had hurt Yugi and his friends. Who had destroyed Mai, and set a huge rift in Malik's family bonds. He had heard snippets of stories from Yugi and his friends, of how violent and evil this being was. He began to doubt their words. The boy before him was a broken creature, depressingly quiet and overtly morose.

He watched as the darkness poked at the sizzling food, at times pinching spices out of rusty canisters. "Have you...have you ever thought of naming yourself?" Ryou pushed, tentatively.

The darkness shook his head, "Not really."

Ryou blinked at him, unforsure with how he should handle this situation. "You must have a name. Everyone has a name."

The darkness scratched at his head irritably, flustered that the other boy was so bent on getting a name out of him. "I don't know. It's just - I was Malik. I was a part of him as much as he was a part of me. I wasn't like...I wasn't like the pharaoh or that one guy who was in your body -" at this, Ryou pursed his lips "-I wasn't a spirit. I didn't have a previous life in Egypt. I didn't have a different body. I was Malik. Malik was me. Malik's body was mine. As much as it was his. But -"

The darkness put tanned fingers to the bridge of his nose, squeezing the area between his eyes, "I was just a coping mechanism. I was created to protect him from the pain, to alleviate the horrors of the world. He couldn't handle it - no child could. So he, unwittingly, created me. Created me so I could deal with it. So I could take the pain in his place." He poked at the sizzling meat some more, though not really paying attention, merely needing something for his hands to deal with, "But - but something went wrong, I don't know. My creation provoked the powers of the shadows, and they kind of...made me worse. Made me like the pain. And made me like giving pain. It warped me. Messed me up, made me want to destroy the very person who I was created to protect. The Millennium Rod - it ruined me. Ruined Malik."

Ryou watched as the boy broke down in front of him. The darkness uncomfortably pulled at his shirt and rubbed his eyes, pulling at his hair. He paced the small area from the kitchen to the cellar door, shuffling back and forth. The darkness was extremely upset with himself for telling the other boy all of these things. His secrets, the way he thought. What he knew about himself. It was so sudden - too sudden. He hadn't been in the company of another person for several months - at times he would go to the town to resupply himself by trading out furs and meat, or jewelry pieces he had made from bone and teeth- but those were quick dealings. Not times that he would talk about his life woes. But Ryou knew him, had met him - in a different offhandish sort of way. He sort of understood the situation. But not really. He shouldn't have told Ryou anything. He got caught up in the moment, like an idiot. He wasn't used to socializing, and he had overdone it.

He suddenly stopped pacing, and huffed heavily as he stared Ryou down. The boy looked at him fearfully, and that broke a piece of the darkness's soul. The pale, fragile face that he had only seen set in a smirk or sneer was soft and worried. The familiarity of it was muted, and, recalling himself, he had never actually met this boy - not as he was now. It was the spirit that he had dealt with, alongside Malik.

The darkness apologized softly, moving his hands about nervously before giving the food his undivided attention. Ryou watched him dabble in the kitchen area, organizing some sort of plates and cups. He tried to absorb this information - tried, but failed. It was a lot to take in, to attempt to filter through the previous knowledge that he had of this individual. He breathed heavily, the atmosphere thick with the smell of meat and spices, and something else he couldn't quite place. He looked down at the books again, slowly processing and organizing his thoughts. He began to stack the books against the side of the table, flush against the wall, in order to make room for their meal.

Before long, an old, copper plate was set before him, along with a small tin cup and an old fork. The plate held some sort of mystery meat, along with a few fried potatoes, chopped up in tiny pieces. The cup was empty.

"Do you - do you want whiskey? Or I can melt some snow..."

Ryou looked up at him, somewhat surprised at these offers. He gave a small, amused laugh, "Snow, please."

The darkness nodded before strutting back over into the kitchen area. Grabbing a small, porcelain enameled pot, he went for the door. Completely barefoot, he jumped outside, reached over the railing of the porch, and scooped himself a pot of snow. He tippy-toed back in, shutting the door behind him before placing the pot on the stove. "Needs to melt," he stated, an awkward look on his face.

Ryou smiled up at him, lifting his fork as the darkness set himself on the opposite side of the table. Ryou bit into his first chunk of meat. It wasn't anything he had ever tasted before, and the fork left the stagnant taste of silver in his mouth.

"What kind of meat is this?"

"Porcupine."

"Oh. Okay."

The darkness looked up at him, licking his lips, "Is it bad?"

"No. No, it's just different."

The darkness nodded his head in response and continued with his meal. Taking a few more bites, he removed himself from the table to check on the melting snow. Satisfied at what he saw, he removed it from the stove and carefully poured it into Ryou's cup. This wasn't how he usually did it - normally he'd boil it down and filter it out and save it for later when it cooled - but he didn't have any stored away, and Whiskey was his only other option. A bit of moonshine as well, but he wasn't sharing that. It was a trade-drink that he couldn't afford to swindle away so easily. Lukewarm snow never killed anybody, anyways.

Ryou mumbled his approval through a full mouth, taking a sip as the darkness set the pot back onto the stove. The darkness sat himself back down and continued with his meal.

Ryou, deciding to break the silence, and to perhaps get to know the other individual a bit better, had asked "Those things you said. About the defense mechanism thing with Malik - did you learn that from the books?" he pointed his fork towards them, and Malik looked from him over to the messily stacked pile on the opposite side of the table.

He nodded his head, then continued with his meal. The conversation starter had failed. Ryou decided to try it again.

"Oh, I keep forgetting to ask - how did I get here? I mean -"

The darkness shook his head, nonchalantly looking around the room. "You got in a plane crash."

Ryou suddenly felt sick.

He remembered - he was in a small bush plane, heading to a small excavation site where his dad had relocated to a different continent, his expertise wanted for certain types of relics. Something about linking the two peoples of Egypt and those of North America by studying some ancient items that had been dug up the previous summer. A major breakthrough, as he had been told. Ryou had wanted to go and visit him, to take a quick vacation. To get away from the thoughts that plagued him - thoughts of the spirit that had controlled his body. Because the spirit was back, in his own body, along with the Pharaoh. His spirit didn't look anything like he had assumed he would - dark and tall, with stark white hair and hard, violet eyes. He caught a glimpse of a scar, the fearful look on the spirit's face when his gaze had met Ryou's...and then he was gone. His spirit had left immediately and he hadn't heard from him - he didn't even know the man's name. But that suited him just fine, his life had been ruined because of that fiendish monster.

Ryou needed to clear his mind. Go somewhere different, somewhere new for a bit. Get out of the stagnant air that surrounded him at Domino City. But then something went wrong, and the plane went down - and all he remembered was the shouting and how loud everything seemed. It explained the bruises and scratches, but he was extraordinarily surprised that he was otherwise relatively unscathed. Then he thought -

"How long was I asleep?"

The darkness looked at him, then to the stove, thinking. "I think...maybe a week, almost. Maybe two. I don't know."

Ryou paled.

"What about the pilot?"

"Dead."

"What, did you just leave him there?" Ryou asked, bewildered.

The darkness nodded, "Yes."

Losing his appetite, Ryou put his fork down on the half-empty plate. "Why bring me here? Why not a hospital? Wasn't there a radio in the plane?"

The darkness licked his lips thoughtfully, "I was very, very far from my cabin. Farther still from any town. The radio wouldn't work, it was all busted up." He said it so easily, and Ryou began to notice that this individual was the type who was straight to the point. No play of words. Just wham-bam, that's how it is.

Ryou couldn't believe this. The chances of a bush plane crashing weren't impossible, but landing in a place where someone such as this...this individual resided, and was able to care for him - well, it was too farfetched. And his wounds - he should be dead, by all reasoning. Or at least have several broken bones, or thick lacerations.

"I'm not in that bad of shape, though...considering. I'd have thought I'd have worse than a couple of bruises and cuts."

The tanned boy cocked his head "You've healed a lot. I sewed up a few deeper cuts."

Ryou was quiet, brooding over this. Sewed a few deeper cuts. He shuddered.

"Also, luck," the darkness added, almost as an afterthought.

Popping his lips, Ryou furrowed his brows. "Weird. Are you sure - is there anything else I'm missing here? I mean, this is so...odd. Here. With you, of all people."

Feeling the uncomfortable vibe, the darkness attempted to explain ,"I know. My sister -" the darkness fumbled with himself, twitching his face as he slammed his eyes shut "...Malik's...sister...believed in fate. Said if two people were to meet again, the gods would make it happen."

Ryou watched the darkness's face twist in pain when he mixed up his words. He realized this individual had no real connection with anyone. Especially not himself. It must have been a strange, awkward feeling. He had every right to belong to a certain family, to have a certain name, and yet at the same time, he did not.

The rest of the meal was spent in silence, though Ryou merely poked at his food, at times drinking from his cup. He mulled over his situation. His father would have been worried, maybe had even sent out a brief searching party. Maybe the plane that had went down had sent out some sort of signal, a radar point that had tracked it or something. Perhaps the plane had been found by somebody else, Ryou wasn't sure, he didn't know anything of those sorts of things.

He then thought of the boy in front of him, how he had stated that he had been far from his cabin. He briefly wondered how far they were from his father's dig site. "So. Is there any way to contact anyone? Like, do you have a radio, a cell phone, or anything like that?"

"Yes. Best way is to go to town. I have a radio, but I don't know how to use it. It's old. Broken, I think."

"OKay. Town. How far is the town?"

"About 160 kilometers."

Ryou blanched. He had never been in an area that was so devoid of...well, of society. "Okay," he said slowly, "Do you drive there? I assume you have a truck or something ..."

"Just the snowmachine. It has bad gas mileage, so I don't go very often."

"Snowmachine?" Ryou thought on this, realizing he was talking about the old snowmobile outside. He began to fret.

"Oh. Oh, no, no. I need to get ahold of my father. Or - or of somebody. My father was expecting me - a few weeks ago, as you've said. What if somebody found the plane crash, he probably thinks I'm dead, I haven't seen him in years and I -"

Suddenly, he felt a warm, soft finger press softly against his lips, "You talk a lot."  
He pulled his head back, slightly insulted and disturbed. He felt a frustrated tear fall from his eye, and, embarrassed, wiped it away.

The darkness twitched his lip in apprehension, "You need to rest. We can go to town in a few weeks - then I will have enough furs and things to trade for gas so I can come back. You can radio your father then."

"Why not now? He should know that I'm -" and then, a thought, "- you can't keep me here!"

Disturbed and hurt, the darkness stepped away from the table, leaving his plate behind. He walked backwards to Ryou's bunk, never breaking eye contact with the angered whitenette. He was upset with Ryou's words, at Ryou's actions.

Ryou was frustrated and scared, in a foreign place with a person whom had a horrifying past. This was supposed to be a vacation, he was supposed to see his father after so many years of being alone. It was supposed to be a chance to get away from his past, to temporarily forget the plagues that seemed to follow him around. And here he was, in a remote cabin with one of those plagues. It all had gone so wrong. He suddenly burst into tears, angry, tired and confused.

"I just wanted to see my father," he gurgled.

The tanned boy merely stared awkwardly, clenching his hands against his longjohns. He hadn't meant to upset Ryou, it had all happened so fast and suddenly. He tried to think of something to do - of something the books had told him to do, what they had indicated, but his mind was blank. It wasn't the same when it was in a real life situation.

Lamely, the darkness shuffled over to his own bunk, plush with furs and blankets. He quickly grabbed the guitar from the bunk above it, and crawled into the dark corner against the wall, his back facing the room. He set his forehead against the post of the bunk, eyes wide as he strummed the guitar once, twice, tuned it quickly, and began to dabble with it. He began to play sweet nothings in an attempt to calm his frayed nerves. The honeyed sound of the acoustic rang through his ears, drowning out the soft sobbing of the boy behind him.

Surprised and confused, Ryou curled his body around so he could see past the wood stove, his brows furrowed and mouth still set into a sob. He blinked the tears away as he grimaced, staring at the odd creature in the dark corner of the bunk, playing the guitar that Ryou had found earlier. He shook his head over the awkward situation. It was a strange display of character, something an individual wouldn't normally do. Ryou watched the slight weave and bob of the darkness's back, his shoulders and arms moving as he strummed. The song - or songs, Ryou couldn't really tell - flowed together smoothly, creating beautiful melodies and laments.

After awhile, Ryou dried his tears, feeling stupid and ashamed for his embarrassing display. The string of emotions that had attacked him had been too much for him to handle, and this made him feel abashed. The harmonious sound of the guitar calmed him, and he lowered himself onto the table, resting his head in his arms as he breathed heavily. And so he sat, and he listened, contemplative.

After a long, long time, the strumming stopped, and the room was silent once more. The sudden change was deafening, and Ryou opened his eyes to look over at the other boy. The darkness had twisted his body around, his wide, concerned eyes boring into Ryou's own.

"In a few weeks," Ryou mumbled.

The darkness stared at him a moment, then nodded, "In a few weeks."

"Mariku."

The voice broke the hushed crackle of the fire, and he heard shuffling from across the room, in the other bunk.

"Mmm?" was the tired, confused reply.

"Your name. It could be Mariku. It's kind of like Malik - but different enough, right? It's like the Romanized Japanese version, you know. We could call you that. "

It was silent for a long time, and he wasn't sure if the other had even heard him, as late as it was. Perhaps he had fallen back asleep. The entire cabin was cast in darkness, though small bits of orange surrounded the floor of the stove, cracks showing the burning glow of the stove's insides.

"Okay," finally, a soft reply, then "You talk too much."

Ryou smiled to himself. He had broken the barrier.


	2. Chapter 2

Morning came, or at least Ryou assumed it was morning. The light from the window was bright and blinding, and he blearily attempted to wake himself up. He looked to the bunk catty-cornered from his, and realized it was empty. Yawning loudly, he curled himself up beneath the fur blanket, tucking it under his feet and arms. He adjusted another wool blanket around himself, then a sleeping bag up against his side, curving to the shape of his body. He had created a sort of nest, his little masterpiece for the moment. He had to pee, but the warmth and comfort overwhelmed his senses, and he found the idea of getting out of the bunk irritating and irrational.

He lay there a long time, waking himself up very slowly, his stupor refusing to leave him. The warmth of the stove and blankets wasn't making it any better, and he was half tempted to just fall back asleep. But his loins had other plans, and he was eventually forced from the bed to go and relieve himself.

The sudden cold once he left the blankets gave him mild discomfort, yet when he opened the door, he was shocked awake. The freezing chill of the outside air felt like it had slapped him across the face. He quickly stepped over to the previous place he had gone the day before - did his business and bolted back inside. He shook the chills away as he rushed back into his bunk, fluffing up his blankets and curling up underneath them, poofing them out and adjusting them to his liking. He turned his area into a little oven, dark, warm and cozy. He felt like a perfect little cinnamon bun, but then felt stupid for thinking that. The stinging in his feet slowly left, and before long, he found himself falling back asleep.

Before he could completely drift off, however, the door suddenly opened with a loud thunk, and Ryou's eyes shot open. Startled, he peeked out of a tiny crack between the blankets, dully peering at Mariku's form. He was wearing a thick wool jacket and fur boots, his hands carrying a basket and tin jug. Mariku's gaze went over to Ryou's bunk, and he blinked lazily, unable to see the boy whom was hiding in the little blanket fortress.

Setting the basket and jug on the table, he kicked his boots off by the door, then threw his jacket on the bunk above his own. Walking back over to the table, he removed the jug and placed it on the stove, putting a lid over the top of it, a small crack to the side of the rim. He then leaned over to the cellar, opened the small door, and reached for the basket. Ryou shifted the blankets, poking his hand out through the crack to pop his head out. Mariku gave him a quick glance before grabbing the contents of the basket and placing them, one at a time, into a hidden area that Ryou couldn't see.

"Are...are those eggs?" he mumbled, surprised.

Mariku nodded.

"But I thought...oh, wait. Do you have chickens?"

Mariku nodded again.

Ryou was elated at this information. He wasn't entirely sure why, but the mere thought of chickens, all the way out here, in this empty landscape, entertained him. "How many?"

"16."

Ryou amused himself with the thought of Mariku being surrounded by chickens, and let out a half snort, half laugh. Mariku gave him a blank look as he finished with the eggs, then placed the basket on the floor beneath the table. He closed the cellar door, then gently tugged at Ryou's blankets.

"Goats, too."

Ryou thought a moment, the words seeming out of context. "Oh. Oh, you have goats, too?"

Mariku nodded once more.

Ryou now thought of Mariku being surrounded by chickens AND goats, and the mental image made him chuckle to himself. A grin split across his face, and Mariku continued to give him that blank stare, as if studying him and not entirely sure how to react to him.

"Why is this funny?"

"I don't know," he attempted to derive a reasoning to his amusement, but found none, "It just...is."

Mariku looked to the wall, scratching his nose and rubbing at the bags beneath his eyes. He was confused by Ryou, but decided not to delve any further.

"How did you learn how to play guitar?"

Mariku set himself down on one of the stumps by the table, and began to pick at his feet, "I don't know. I just...did," he stated, playing off of Ryou's words.

Ryou laughed at him "Whatever! It was really nice. Did you have books for that, too?"

Mariku shook his head, staring down at his toes, as if completely enthralled by them.

"Did anybody teach you?"

Again, Mariku shook his head.

Ryou found this revelation to be absolutely beautiful. He had played the guitar - and played it without knowing which fingers go where to play a certain note, a certain chord. Not defined or labeled, at least. He just simply knew where to put his fingers to get a certain tone. The music he had heard was the definition and creativity of the individual sitting before him, currently picking at his feet.

"You can read, though," he indicated the books.

He stopped picking, "Malik could read."

Ryou sighed heavily, sadness filling him, "I didn't mean -"

Mariku shook his head, then stood and walked over to the stove. He checked on the contents of the tin jug, then left it alone once more.  
Ryou studied Mariku - the hunched shoulders, the bare, calloused feet. Hands that were gnarled and bony. The listless expression that always draped over his face, like some lethargic curtain. He was a depressed individual. Ryou began to believe that his depression was slowly eating away at him - that it would eventually kill him in a silent, slow process. It was evident on his lithe, rugged form.

Suddenly, a feeling rushed over him, and he bolted from the bed. He quickly strutted over to Mariku, swung his arms around him, and gave him a tight, meaningful hug. He buried his face into his chest, and Mariku stepped back in surprise before going completely stiff. Mariku stared, wide-eyed and lost. He looked around the room, his hands laying rigid by his sides, unsure of what to do. Ryou inhaled deeply. The tanned boy smelled of pine, along with the husky scent of smoke, and something he couldn't quite place. It was almost like blood, cold and somber.

"Mariku, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for all you've been through."

Ryou only half knew what he was saying. He still didn't know the whole story of Mariku's birth, all the little details behind the duels in Battle City. What kind of role Mariku had played, what Malik had meant to him. But he knew - he knew that whatever it was, that it had been horrible, and had weighed heavily on him. It was evident in everything. How he looked, how he spoke, where he lived.

Especially where he lived.

He began to believe that Mariku had been running away. Hiding himself from the rest of the world in an attempt to get away. So he wouldn't have to deal with the scrutiny of anyone, especially those who he had hurt.

He pulled away from Mariku, looking up at the boy's face. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, his violet eyes wide and unseeing. Ryou tentatively reached his hands up, gently brushing the tears away, "Oh," he whispered, "No, stop."

Mariku blinked heavily, jerking his eyes from Ryou then back to the wall. He mumbled something beneath his breath, then wrenched himself away, wiping his eyes. "Stupid," he groaned out, distressed.

Ryou simply stood where he was, saddened as he watched Mariku dig around his bunk, throwing furs and things to the side. He briefly wondered if the darkness was going to withdraw to the comfort of his guitar again, but he had pointedly left it alone. He heard Mariku mumble, then he stopped fussing. He had been searching for nothing in particular. He was simply lost. He leaned against the bunk, his back facing Ryou as he stared into the blankets, his attitude ruffled.

"Need to check your wounds," he murmured.

Ryou's thoughts sobered, and he fidgeted nervously. He hadn't really checked himself out, the dull aches barely bothered him anymore. At times he would feel a sharp pain in his side, but it would fade off rather quickly. He remembered what Mariku had said before, that some of his wounds had to be sewn shut. Thinking over this, he realized that Mariku had to have seen him naked, or at least partially so. He had also redressed him into his current attire: the large t-shirt and shorts. Suddenly embarrassed he went and sat back down in his bunk, curling up in the blankets. Mariku looked over at him, slightly surprised at Ryou's actions.

Ryou stared back, then looked away, his face red. Mariku then sat in his own bunk, and began to fidget and poke at his longjohns. Ryou obviously disliked the idea of him dabbling with his wounds, so Mariku sat and waited, patiently and nervously. After awhile, he rose from his bunk to check on the jug on the stove. He removed the lid hesitantly, and steam puffed out in bulbous tuffs. Seemingly satisfied, he then wrapped his sleeve around his hand, grabbing the jug's handle before strutting over to the kitchen area. He quickly set several jars in front of him, then poured a creamy liquid into each one, filling them nearly to the brim.

Ryou watched as Mariku stuck his finger into one of the jars, then tasted the contents. He set the jug down on a plate, then left the jars alone, sitting back down in his bunk "What is that?" Ryou asked.

Startled, he looked at Ryou with large eyes, "Milk," he replied.

Ryou furrowed his brows, bringing a blanket up to his nose. "You didn't say you had cows."

Mariku shrugged, "I don't."

Thoroughly confused, he had to ask "Then where did the milk come from?"

"The goats."

Ryou hadn't considered this, but it made sense. He never had goat milk before, but he had a feeling that he would have a taste of it later on. They stayed as they were in silence, and Ryou slowly fingered at the large cut in his side beneath the blankets. He poked at it, running the tips of his fingers across the coarse flesh. Maybe Mariku really should look at it. And maybe he had other larger cuts and abrasions that were worse than this one, ones he didn't even know about.

Ryou slowly pushed the blankets from him, and Mariku watched him with that dead stare of his. Ryou rose from his bunk, tentatively lifting the side of his shirt to peer at the large cut. He grimaced at himself. It was a huge laceration, going from his back nearly to his belly button. It was red and irritated, and blue and yellow bruises ran along his stomach and side as if an artist had flicked paint at him. Brown stitches held it together, the skin puffing out between them. Other scratches were also visible, though they were tiny in comparison to the larger cut.

He looked up at Mariku, scared and concerned. Mariku shrugged at Ryou's horrified gaze, but stood up from his own bunk and walked forward. He crouched down to study the worst of Ryou's wounds, afraid of touching the other boy. It was different when he was asleep - easier to deal with. Now, he had to cope with emotions and thoughts. It had become difficult, and strange. He had a hard time interacting.

"Looks okay."

Ryou stared down at him incredulously. Looks okay? It looked awful! He had a lot of scars, but this one would have to take the cake as the most garish when it healed.

"We should - we should clean it, though," Mariku stuttered.

Ryou gaped at Mariku as he rose, "Clean it with what? I wouldn't assume you would have peroxide."

Mariku shook his head, "No. Maybe. I have whiskey." And moonshine. But again, he wasn't going to go there. His moonshine was precious, "Would you like to bathe first?"

Ryou looked at him, musing over the offer. He wondered if Mariku had previously washed him down before, when he had been sleeping, carefully cleaning his wounds and washing away any grime or blood. He shuddered at the thought. "Do you...do you have a bath? Or a shower, I would assume you wouldn't, I mean..."

Mariku shook his head, "There's a sauna outside in one of the sheds. It has a tub. But it will take a while to get warm. Or I can melt some snow over the stove for a spitbath."

Realizing how gritty he really felt, Ryou yearned for a true shower. Sweat stuck to him, the aftermath of the warmth of the blankets and stove and a few nights of fever. He knew his hair was also greasy, and this bothered him immensely. A sauna with a tub was the best idea, as he didn't even know what a spitbath was, but it sounded mildly revolting. He finally dared to ask, "What's a spitbath?"

Mariku looked over to the stove, as if reminiscing, "Just a bit of water and a rag. You wipe yourself down."

Ryou thought that was a good idea for something quick and easy, and he didn't want to become more of a bother by making Mariku heat up the sauna shed. But the sauna sounded highly relaxing, and the moist air might be good for him. This could also provide a good time to clean himself thoroughly.

Slightly ashamed of his greed, he offered the idea of the sauna. Mariku simply walked over to his bunk. He sifted through the previously torn pile, seeking out a jacket or coat. Finding one, he spun it over his shoulders, then made for his boots. In a flash, he was out the door, and Ryou sat down at the table, feeling guilty.

After a long time, Mariku returned. It had been so long that Ryou had drifted off, half asleep on the table. Jerking awake, he realized Mariku was offering Ryou a fur coat and a pair of boots that looked strikingly similar to -

"Are those my boots?"

"Yes."

Suddenly excited, he blurted "What about the rest of my things? All my clothes? Shampoo and stuff? They were in a bag -"

Mariku rubbed his face, staring down at Ryou's feet, before pointing over to a corner of the cabin. Ryou looked to where he had indicated, and was elated to see his blue duffle bag, among a pile of other things. He ran over to the pile and slowly realized most of these things were from the plane, different first aid kits, some buckles from the seats...he noted a pair of gloves that looked just like the pilot's - then he broke the thought, slightly nauseous.

He quickly dug through his duffle bag, careful not to touch anything else in the pile he thought was a tad familiar. A side of the bag had a tear in it, but it didn't seem like anything was missing. He dug out a loose fitting button up shirt and a pair of sweat pants along with a change of boxer shorts. He fumbled for his shampoo and conditioner bottles, and Mariku eyed them inquisitively when Ryou returned to him.

Mariku offered to carry some of Ryou's things, to which he declined. He placed the items on the table as he slid his boots on, then flung the fur coat over himself. He wondered where his own coat had gone to - but it was probably torn to shreds, considering. The fur was soft to the touch, a dark brown creature with a fluffy undercoat. Sweeping the items back into his hold, he looked to Mariku, indicating he was ready. Mariku opened the door, walking out as Ryou followed.

The light outside was blinding, the white snow glaring into his eyes. He blinked heavily as Mariku closed the door behind him, and he waited to be shown where to go. The darkness shuffled next to him, then walked down a beaten path of snow. Ryou followed, placing his feet carefully in front of him, afraid of tripping. He looked around him, taking note of a small building with a fenced in area. The wood was gray and rotted, the roof covered with several feet of snow. He saw movement, and started slightly before he realized they were small chickens. They cooed as he walked past them, and he heard the soft bleats of what could only be a goat. He turned around to look at the cabin, taking it in through a different angle. It looked much smaller from the outside - with a partially enclosed porch and smoke coming out of a brick stack. It was completely surrounded by snow, the dark wood making it stick out against the bright landscape.

He noticed a tiny shack behind the cabin - what could only be an outhouse, and he told himself to keep that in mind for later. Several other small buildings littered the area, but he didn't know what any of them were. Trees completely enclosed the area, and he imagined the place looking very beautiful and whimsical in summer. Continuing down the path, Mariku led him into a densely forested area. A small shed with a smokestack met his view. Gray smoke puffed from the stack, rising up into the dark trees. The roof was low, and both Ryou and Mariku had to duck as they entered through the small door, into the warm, thick atmosphere of the sauna shed.

Ryou nearly laughed at what greeted him. The "tub" that Mariku had mentioned was a galvanized bucket, barely large enough for 2 people. It lay over some sort of flat stove, the flames flickering hotly through the grates. Steam rose softly from the clear water, and the room was clouded over. Ryou smiled to himself in anticipation. An old picnic table lay against the back wall of the shed, and several benches made from stumps and half-cut trees lined the other two. A towel and several cloths lay on one of the benches, and he assumed Mariku had retrieved those for him. A small wooden bucket lay on the floor, along with a wide sauna spoon, next to a pile of hot rocks.

Ryou set his things down on a bench, then removed his coat and boots. Mariku took this as his cue to leave, but Ryou stopped him before he could go completely. He had reached out and grabbed hold of Mariku's jacket sleeve, pulling it back. Mariku looked at him inquisitively waiting for Ryou to explain. Ryou's mouth twitched, and his face grew red. He didn't know why he had grabbed Mariku's sleeve, "Thank you," he stated lamely, releasing the sleeve and putting his hand awkwardly to his side.

Mariku stalled for a moment, nodded, then left, closing the door gently behind him.

Ryou looked around a moment before pulling the shirt from himself, lifting it above his shoulders. His wounds twinged, and he grimaced slightly at the painful ache. He looked down at the larger wound again, then ran his gaze along the rest of his abdomen and torso. There were multiple cuts and bruises lining every inch of his skin. He shuddered as he removed the shorts, looking behind him to the door, as if expecting Mariku to be there.

He wasn't, of course, and Ryou stepped up onto a stool, then slowly tested the water with his hand. It was warm, and he reached for the wide spoon, dipped it in the tub and poured the water onto the rocks by the picnic table, slow and steady. The rocks hissed, the steam rising into the air, thick and wet. Ryou then gazed longingly at the tub, and decided to get in quick. This proved to be slightly stupid of him, as his wounds stung from the sudden warmth and wetness. He let out a short scream before squealing softly in self-pity. Agitated, he merely sat there, waiting for his body to get used to the temperature, and for his wounds to stop throbbing.

After awhile, he began to relax. The warmth and heavy atmosphere calmed and soothed his nerves, and he felt his body go slack. Holding his breath, he dunked beneath the water, then quickly bobbed back to the surface, gasping at the sudden heat on his face. He brushed the wet hair from his eyes, then reached for the shampoo. He strained a little bit in order to snag it, and decided to grab the conditioner as well. The containers floated midway in the water, twisting around. He washed his hair quickly, and the bubbles floated on the surface of the water. He poked at them absentmindedly before leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.

Ryou brought his hands to his eyes, wiping at his face before he crossed his arms over his chest, contemplating. Mariku was exceptionally kind, quiet and awkward. He was the epitome of a hermit. But none of that matched the previous descriptions he had been given of the dark being. Violent, sadistic, batshit insane. A creature that ruined lives and fed off of other's pain, someone who bathed themselves in horror. He was a nightmare.

But not anymore.

From this thought, he went onto his own spirit. The one that had inhabited his body. The one that had destroyed his life, destroyed his friend's lives, and made him the bad guy. Dread filled him as a sort of realization hit. Maybe his spirit was different now, too. Maybe - maybe he wasn't all bad, not anymore. He shook his head, angered that he had even considered this. He suddenly heard a knock on the door, and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"C-Come in," he squeaked out, lowering himself in the tub.

Slowly, the door opened, and Mariku entered, carrying an old clay jug and small glass jar. He stole a quick glance at Ryou, then looked away. He watched as Mariku set the jug and jar down next to the towel, stating "When you're done, I need to put these on your wounds."

Ah, yes, wounds, Ryou thought. He watched as Mariku began to leave, but Ryou replied, "I-I'm done. I'll um - I'll put pants on?"

Mariku nodded and left through the door, closing it behind him.

Sitting in the tub for a moment, he realized that Mariku was probably outside the door, waiting. Quickly stepping out of the tub, he reached for the towel and patted himself dry. He sniffled as he fumbled with his boxers and sweats, slapping the bands against his waist.

"I'm uh - I'm dressed," he offered, embarrassed. He thought maybe Mariku wasn't even there - perhaps he had gone back to the cabin, but that was not so, as Mariku walked through the door. He removed his jacket, placing it on a bench before grabbing a wash cloth and the jug.

Fidgeting nervously, Ryou looked off into the room. He felt his face get hot when Mariku walked over to him, and he wrapped his arms around himself, flustered and slightly ashamed.

Bending down, Mariku poured the contents of the jug onto the rag, soaking the top layer. Without wringing it, he slapped it on Ryou's glaring wound, and the shock of pain and cold caused Ryou to squeal. He grabbed onto Mariku's hair and held tight, his body going stiff as his breath hitched. Mariku merely blinked, slightly irritated at the gentle tug against his scalp.

Mariku slowly, gingerly dabbed against the wound, careful to get the smaller cuts that surrounded it. He felt Ryou shake against him, feet shuffling uncomfortably as the pain shot through his side. He let out small mewls, his hands still clenched tightly around Mariku's twisted locks of hair, "Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow," he mumbled, over and over.

Mariku whispered a soft apology, to which Ryou attempted to shut himself up. He still let out small squeals when a particularly sensitive spot was dabbed, but other than that he remained quiet. Mariku attempted to shift away from Ryou to get at different scrapes and scratches, but the hold on his hair was unforgiving.

After a tortuous amount of time to Ryou, the dabbing finally stopped. He opened his eyes and let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Looking down with apprehension, he immediately released the hold he had on Mariku's hair. He apologized profusely stepping backwards, the back of his knees meeting the bench. He lifted his arms to look down at his wound. It shone with the wet whiskey, and still stung slightly. He looked at the rest of his abdomen, taking in the large bruises and other scrapes and scratches.

He watched as Mariku reached out and grabbed the tiny glass jar. He twisted the lid off and dipped two fingers in, bringing them to Ryou's side. Ryou stepped away slightly, weary. "What is that?"

"Beeswax."

At this, Mariku globbed the beeswax to Ryou's large wound, thickly smearing it over the laceration. His fingers would often flick across the rest of Ryou's abdomen, going over smaller cuts. It took all of Ryou's strength not to grab at Mariku's hair again.

Ryou felt the beeswax against his skin, thick and oily. It was warm, though not in an uncomfortable way. After awhile, Mariku stopped. Recapping the lid, he rose and stood before the shirtless boy. Ryou noticed him staring at his chest, his face blank as his eyes moved to several points. Ryou lowered his arms and looked down to his chest, thinking perhaps he had missed a wound or maybe Mariku was a pervert, but -

It was the five tiny scars, perfectly aligned in a half circle. The scars from the Millennium Ring, when it had dug into his skin. He crossed his arms again, saddened and angry as he attempted to hide the disfigurements.

He suddenly jerked away, grabbed his button up shirt and put it on with such ferocity that his wounds stung. He buttoned it quickly, then stepped away, staring at the floor. The abrupt action startled Mariku, and he stepped back, studying Ryou's angry face with hidden interest. Ryou's thoughts were storming. He absentmindedly scratched at the large scar on his left hand, one that Mariku had also seen before. Connecting the dots, he volunteered, "Everyone has scars."

Ryou's smoldering eyes Mariku's, and he tisked, turning away and putting on his boots in a haphazard manner. The jacket soon followed and he was out the door, setting off down the path like a tempest. He headed to the cabin, feet heavy in the snow, leaving Mariku alone and confused.

000

Mariku had stayed out a very, very long time. The light from outside had dimmed down to a soft blue, the stove was colder than it had ever been, and Ryou was afraid that he had perhaps offended the darkness. His own anger had ebbed away quickly. It wasn't Mariku's fault for bringing up his scars, and in truth, he hadn't really brought them up at all. Ryou had just overreacted. They were just a sensitive issue with him. They brought back bad memories, memories that were still horribly fresh.

After fuming, he felt deeply ashamed. He had been overreacting a lot lately. He was frustrated, irritable and just...agitated. At everything. Life had always been unfair to him, you'd think he would have been used to it by now. And yet - he still couldn't handle things.

Ryou had dumped the contents of his duffle bag onto the bunk he deemed his own, folding the clothing and organizing his hygenic items. He found a couple packets of snacks, mainly candy bars and M&Ms. He had used his deodorant, and had brushed his teeth using the water from the tin that was used for the meal the previous day. He felt stupid for storming out of the sauna shed, as he had left his shampoo and conditioner, as well as the borrowed clothing.  
His stomach rumbled, and this just made him more irritated. He searched the kitchen for something - anything. Something besides the chocolate that was in his bag. The thought of chocolate made his stomach churn. He noticed the jars of milk had disappeared, but he managed to find a couple of crackers and mystery jerky, hidden on top of a box that was hanging on the wall. He figured this would hold him over. He had gone outside and grabbed a couple fistfulls of snow, and simply threw them in his cup.

The jerky was tough, the crackers stale, and the snow made his mouth numb. He yearned for something hot and delicious, and his irritation came back in muted waves. After his hodge podge meal, he decided to look at the books on the table once more.

Everything that was bookmarked held identity disorders, multiple personality disorders, sociopathic behaviors, emotional instability, child abuse, the development of childhood traumas into adulthood...Ryou felt sick looking at all these.

The human behavior books were less intimidating, mostly going over socializing problems, and how to interact with other beings. Ryou almost thought this cute. Almost. Except for the fact that there were sloppy scrawls with descriptions on what the owner had done wrong in certain situations, as if correcting themselves for past conversations and actions. Dark things.

Ryou heard footsteps from outside, and he looked up as the door opened. Mariku came in, his arms full. He had something in his mouth as well, and he looked over at Ryou, eyes half lidded. Ryou stood and walked over to him, taking a few of the items from Mariku's hold, a sort of lame apology for what he had done in the sauna shed. Mariku mumbled a complaint through his full mouth, but otherwise didn't make an attempt to stop him.

When he had gotten close, he realized Mariku smelled like his shampoo, and his hair had a certain glisten to it, even in the dim lighting. Slightly amused, he placed the items on the table, looking over them with interest. He noticed his shampoo and conditioner bottles. Mariku dumped everything in his arms on the table as well, then walked back outside. He came back in with a few pieces of firewood and set them on the ground by the stove. Grabbing a piece of cloth from the table - Ryou noticed it was the shirt he was wearing earlier - Mariku opened the door of the stove. He poked at the coals a bit with a fork he had retrieved from the kitchen, much to Ryou's distaste. He then placed the wood into the stove, and shut the door, opening the grates for air flow.

During this, Ryou had put his shampoo and conditioner with the rest of his things on his bunk, and had gone back to the table. He shut the books and stacked them against the wall once again, looking over the other items that had been strung out. He noticed two small boxes, and several bits of rolled, clear string. Squinting and getting closer, he realized there was also a lump of slightly bloody white fur, and he stepped back, startled.

"Mariku."

It was the first time he had openly used the newly given name, and at first Mariku didn't respond. But then, like clockwork, the darkness looked over at him.  
Ryou pointed at the grotesque thing on the table, "What is that?"

Mariku averted his gaze down to it, then walked towards the door to grab a kerosene lamp. He shifted the thing in his mouth to the side, "Bunny," he replied, "Also, dinner."

Ryou grimaced as Mariku struck a match and lit the lamp, adjusting the flame as he put the glass back over it. He placed it on the table, looking over to the fur. He had skinned the rabbit from the previous day, and the meat was lying in one of the boxes.

"What's that in your mouth? What are you chewing on?"

Mariku shrugged, "Jerky."

Ryou huffed, then watched as Mariku removed his coat and boots. He then began to dote around the kitchen area, and gently poked at the greasy pan still laying on top of the stove, checking its temperature. Ryou took a quick glance at the disgusting display on the table, then decided to sit on his bunk. He began to repack his items back into his duffle, and Mariku simply watched him, still and silent.

000

The hot meal was delicious, though Ryou decided to eat on his bunk, refusing to be anywhere near the bloody skin. It felt wrong to eat the meat of an animal while staring at its skin. Morally weird. After their meal, Mariku had placed a log to sit on in front of the stove and had opened the door to it. He held the small skin in his lap, and continually scraped a sharp blade against it, cutting off any rugged pieces and throwing them into the fire. The sound was constant, a dim scratching noise that Ryou found to be relaxing.

After awhile the scraping stopped, and Mariku shut the stove door, placing the log-chair back by the table. He went outside and quickly ran snow over the fur and skin, then brought it back in and draped it over a wire stretcher, hanging it on the wall. He'd put it by the stove in a day or two, and would continually pull off remaining fat and membrane, and eventually salt it. Then he could begin working with it, to make things. He wasn't sure what to do with the small pelt yet - maybe a piece of a hat or some smaller project.

Tired, Mariku retreated to his bunk, carrying the kerosene lamp with him and setting it on a counter in the kitchen. He began reorganizing his messy bunk, placing books and things to the side. Ryou wondered how on earth he could sleep with all that stuff in his bed.

He stared at Mariku's back, something he found himself doing a lot of. Mariku had changed his clothing - though Ryou wasn't sure when that had happened. He wore a wife-beater and a pair of baggy gray sweats. Continuing to stare, Ryou began to notice shapes of something stick out across the top of his shoulder blades. A faded tattoo, perhaps, or maybe the dim lighting was playing tricks on him. He watched as Mariku climbed into his bunk, rolling the bottom of his sweats up to his knees as he curled into his bed. The stove had gotten too hot from having its door open for so long.

He watched as tanned fingers reached over to the lamp and twisted the knob, dimming the light to a dull flicker. Mariku had gone rigid, as if thinking of something. He then rose from the bed, languidly grabbing his guitar from the top bunk and bringing it down to his own. He fluffed up a few blankets to lay his head on, then adjusted himself, getting cozy.

He looked to Ryou, strumming the guitar once, as if asking permission. Ryou blinked sleepily, staring at the guitar, then closed his eyes. It was quiet a moment, then Mariku slowly, tentatively, began to play. The sound was soft, quiet and sweet, curling around the cabin and echoing back into itself.

It lulled Ryou, and the sound began to fade away as he drifted slowly, softly to sleep.

000

LOLOLOL LOTS OF SLEEPING.

Maybe because I love sleeping. Sleeping is magical, don't you judge me. Please review! It fuels me and makes me update faster! c:


	3. Chapter 3

A fair warning: this chapter is all over the place. All. Over. The. Place. Because I write drabbles, and when you try and put drabbles into a chapter-story...well. It doesn't seem to work out so great sometimes.

000

The days went by slow, and boring. Ryou slept a lot, the heat and darkness making him sleepy all the time, along with his still healing body. Mariku would often dab his wounds with more beeswax and he found the oily feeling bothersome. His shirts often stuck tight to his skin, and he was constantly pulling at them with great annoyance.

He had come to realize that Mariku did not eat very much. Ryou was not used to this, and often found himself pestering Mariku for food. He felt like a dog begging for scraps, and was embarrassed every time he felt hungry. Yet Mairku was a good caretaker, never openly miffed by Ryou's appetite.

He ate all sorts of weird, new things: porcupine, squirrel, small birds, rabbits. Small things with barely enough meat on them for a quick snack, the large animals lasting only a day or two. And then, by a bit of luck and chance, Mariku had managed to nail himself a caribou. Ryou had asked him how on earth he had done so, to which Mariku had shrugged, a longbow slung across his back. He had returned to the cabin to gather supplies for butchering it.

Ryou had offered to help out with the large animal, though Mariku was hesitant to agree with allowing his proposal. He was weary of Ryou's wounds and strength, or if he even had the stomach for it. Ryou wasn't going to take "no" for an answer, and had pointedly argued for the sake of "fresh air" and "a change of scenery", to which Mariku couldn't dispute. The animal had been taken down relatively close to the cabin, down on a frozen lake that Ryou hadn't even known existed. They traveled on a well-used trail that led down to a fishing hole that was frozen over, a small log set next to it to be used as a makeshift chair. There were multiple hoof prints scattered all over the place, weaving through the trees and across the bare snow along the edges of the lake.

A small trail of blood had led them back to the caribou, lying against the cold snow, nearly to the other side of the small lake. It had made a last break for the woods, frenzied in its attempt to outrun its death. The caribou was a dark mass against the great expanse of the white wasteland. It was still, blood spilling from its nose and mouth, blossoming out on the snow like a macabre flower. An arrow was set deep into the animal, between the shoulder and belly. Ryou stared, saddened for a moment, then jumped slightly as it moved. Feeling stupid, he realized Mariku had rolled it slightly. He pushed it to its side, then lifted its back leg up, looking to Ryou, "Hold this," he mumbled.

Ryou tentatively did so, reaching out a gloved hand and grasping the leg just below the hoof. Mariku took a large knife out, and carefully stuck the blade into the beast's crotch area, and Ryou had to look away.

The way Mariku had easily cut into the animal had made Ryou a bit nervous. The quick, precise, and perfect movements. Practiced. It was almost sickening at how effortless it was to him. The hot, coppery smell of blood met Ryou's nostrils, and it almost made him gag. Mariku was careful, slicing up to the caribou's neck, then splitting it open as the guts came out in a massive pile. Ryou released the animal's leg in shock, and jumped away, eyes wide as the insides steamed in the cold air.

"Oh, no, ew ew ew ew, what," Ryou shook his hands in distress, "No. No no no. Ew."

Mariku made a funny noise at him in amusement, a sort of cross between a snort and laugh. It was the first time Ryou had seen that sort of reaction from him, "It's not funny! It's gross," he laughed tensely, completely mortified.

Mariku didn't say anything, and simply indicated for Ryou to grasp the leg once more. Stepping to a more favorable position, Ryou grabbed the leg again, leaning away as far as he could. He grimaced as Mariku began to cut around the leg, cutting away the skin. After a few moments, he felt the leg shift, and it popped out. He screamed, startled, and released it. It fell to the snow, and he began to shake his hands again, a small squeal stuck in the back of his throat.

He repeated this three other times, and before long all four of the legs were lying out against the snow. Mariku had then taken an axe to the poor animal, hacking at the neck to release it from the ribs. Ryou had wandered away at this point, losing any and all interest over the gruesome display. He walked over to the frozen fishing hole, staring at it longingly. He wanted to go fishing later.

Finally finished, Mariku clicked his tongue, then washed his knife and axe in the snow. He tied a thick rope around the bottom part of a leg in preparation for hauling it back to the cabin. He shouted for Ryou, who was slightly offended by having to go back to the revolting display so soon. He'd rather just waltz right back up to the cabin and let Mariku do the rest of the work.

Ryou had dredged back over to the grotesque pile of guts and blood, dully realizing that Mariku had also sawed the antlers off. Ryou had assumed that it was a male due to its relatively small display. Mariku was quick to correct him, and he assumed that carrying the rack across his back had been a sort of punishment for getting the gender confused. It gave him chills thinking about the bloody scalp slung across his back, though he wasn't too keen on carrying what Mariku had: the thick, heavy legs.

They made multiple trips back and forth. Ryou had ended up carrying the ribs, and the pelt once Mariku had skinned it. "Blanket," Mariku had replied to Ryou's inquisitive stare.

Mariku acted quick to wash off the antlers and set them on the porch. A small trophy that Ryou thought pointless. He had also helped Mariku hang the legs and skin in one of the sheds, and had gotten thoroughly bloody in the process. Disgusted, he had stared Mariku down, silently boring into his mind to go and warm the sauna shed.

Mariku must have had the same thought process, as he had teetered off down the pathway, carrying a small armful of firewood. Waiting in the cabin, Ryou had simply sat at the table, miffed and revolted, too irritated to move. He hated the feeling of the blood flaking and peeling from him. He also hated the smell. The solemn, putrid smell of death and blood. He decided that he wouldn't help Mariku with a kill ever again.

When the sauna shed was ready, Mariku had let Ryou bathe first, in privacy, to which Ryou was very grateful. He had resorted to several spitbaths before, realizing that the sauna shed was more of a pain than he knew of, and Mariku wasn't one to constantly have it available. After his bath, he had snuggled into his massive pile of blankets, waiting for Mariku to return with his borrowed shampoo and conditioner bottles.

000

Mariku was quiet. He never said anything unless spoken to, and even then, he was curt and didn't elaborate. When he wasn't out scrounging for something to eat, he had stayed in the cabin with Ryou, dealing with pelts, wood, teeth and bones. He made things. Made little pieces of dead animals and wood into beautiful works of art. Jewelry from bones and teeth, hats and gloves out of fur. He carved little figures and toys out of wood. He used cut up patterns, yellowed and falling apart. They were old, but they still did their job. Ryou wondered how Mariku learned how to use them, or how to sew for that matter. The stitching on his items was phenomenal, and Ryou was grateful that Mariku had known what he was doing with his wound.

Ryou had asked him why he made these things, and why so many. "Trade," was the short answer. It was partially true, but Mariku would never say that they also helped him heal his mental wounds. To create something, rather than destroy it.

When Mariku wasn't using the carving tool set and knives, Ryou would sometimes work on his own little carvings to chase away the boredom. They were the same kind that he made for table top games back home. He even wound up making a little Mariku figure, complete with a fur coat and little fur boots.

Sometimes, they would play cards. Not Duel Monsters, as neither one of them had a deck with them, and the memories of the game probably would have hurt. They used regular playing cards, the edges yellow, the paper thin and wispy. Rummy was a favorite, though Ryou had to teach Mariku how to play at first. Mariku had been used to solitaire, but he was open for something new.

At times, Mariku would leave the cabin for a long time, though he told Ryou he wasn't hunting or setting up snares. Ryou wondered what he was doing, and had half-stalked him once, just to find out. Taking a peek outside and around the corner of the cabin, he had watched Mariku go into one of the sheds, and, curious, Ryou had followed.

He had been slow and quiet when he approached the shed, or at least he thought he was. Mariku was staring at him from the doorway, his face blank. Ryou had stopped walking, feeling a bit awkward for being caught so easily. Mariku was obviously not going to make a move, as he simply stood there, staring Ryou down, completely devoid of any relative expression.

"So. Uh. What're you doing?" Ryou asked, feeling stupid.

Mariku averted his gaze from Ryou, contemplating. He then motioned for Ryou to follow him into the shed before ducking into the doorway. Feeling a bit uneasy, Ryou followed. He could hear the telltale crackle of a fire. The shed was hot, the air thick. It almost reminded him of the sauna shed. Looking around, he was a bit confused. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking at. Strange copper barrels, tubes, crates, some wooden barrels. He noticed a pile of potatoes and corn sitting in a large galvanized bucket, unthawing. He had to fight the sudden urge to eat them, and briefly wondered why Mariku had been hiding them. In a corner lay a few bags with mysterious contents, along with several tools.

"What is this?"

"A distillery."

"For what?"

Mariku was quiet for a moment, then "Moonshine."

Ryou couldn't help himself, and burst out into laughter. The concept was so horribly absurd and seemed so utterly random, "No way."

Mariku didn't know how to respond to this, so he stayed quiet.

Calming himself down, Ryou studied everything, attempting to understand. Unable to do so, he bobbed his head to the side, then looked over towards Mariku, who was eyeing him wearily. "This is isn't legal stuff."

Mariku shook his head in confirmation.

"...but then, neither was killing that caribou, I don't think."

Mariku didn't say anything, continuing to stare at Ryou, somewhat afraid of the implications that were being brought down onto him. Mariku knew the laws. Knew he wasn't supposed to kill and eat certain things at a certain time, of a certain gender, make stuff without having a certain piece of paper to say he was of a certain ethnicity...and he definitely knew that he shouldn't be making moonshine, especially if he was selling or trading it. But these were his survival methods. Methods for food and trade. Methods to keep himself alive.

Ryou's expression slackened a bit as he watched Mariku. Fear had ignited in his eyes, and Ryou thought this strange and interesting. With a straight face, he shot his hand out, holding his pinky finger up. "I pinky promise not to tell a single damned soul."

Ryou had added the curse word for extra effect, though he wasn't sure that Mariku was buying it. Mariku stared, wide-eyed at Ryou's little finger, as if it was rotten and gruesome. Ryou raised his eyebrows, wondering if he had perhaps offended Mariku. However, Mariku slowly, hesitantly reached his own pinky finger out, unsure of what he was supposed to do. Ryou laughed softly, then curled his finger around the darkness's own, shaking and jerking it, "Pinky promise," he simpered.

Ryou pretended that he didn't see the small, coy grin curl around Mariku's lips.

000

Ryou had become much more demanding the longer he stayed in the cabin, irritable and easily agitated. A small bout of cabin fever had struck him, and he often lashed out over the smallest of things. Mariku had attempted to steer clear from the whitenette who often mulled around in the cabin, like some foul beast. He had become a festering, pale creature hellbent on any sort of activity that would get him out of the small, hot quarters. He was constantly seeking out something to do, and was easily captured by boredom.

At times he would help Mariku feed the chickens and goats, collecting eggs while Mariku milked the small, female goats. After getting his hair chewed on, and getting rammed in the knee and side, he decided not to go into the goat pen again. Eventually the roosters started attacking him with their spurs, and the hens pecked at his hands. And that was the end of his adventuring with Mariku's pets.

"I want to go fishing."

Mariku looked up from his carving, nervously stealing a glance at the grumpy boy sitting in his bunk, curled up in a mound of blankets. The stormy, intense gaze bore into Mariku's mind. He went back to his carving, pretending he hadn't heard or seen.

"I want to go fishing," he repeated.

Again, Ryou's statement was met without an answer.

"Mariku."

Mariku sighed, "Pointless."

Ryou glared at him, "What's pointless? Going fishing?"

"Yes."

"No. No, it's fish. We can eat it."

Mariku knew he was going to lose this fight. He knew it, but he didn't want to go down so easily.

"We have a lot of food -"

"We've been eating the same food since forever. I'm sick of...all of it. It's all the same and stupid. Fish is good and new and awesome. I want to fish. I want to eat fish. I want to stuff my face with fish."

Mariku still hadn't entirely gotten used to Ryou's bottomless pit of a stomach, nor with Ryou's irked attitude. He always attempted to make sure there was extra food lying around so he could quickly sate the other boy, or provide small tasks for him to do. But it only went so far.

He set his wood carving down on the table, along with the knife, then he rubbed at his face, a bit peeved. He refused to look up at Ryou, knowing it would break him.

"Mariku," Ryou whispered, harshly, "I want to go fishing." He repeated the phrase several times, relentless.

After awhile, Mariku put his hands up, nodding erratically, "Okay, okay."

Ryou's face split into a wide grin as he watched Mariku put his boots and coat on. A hat and some gloves soon followed. He looked at Ryou before leaving through the door, and was a bit miffed at the boy's maniacal, dominating expression.

It was a winner's face.

000

It had been snowing for several hours, big, soft flurries slowly falling to the ground. Agitated, Mariku had dug out a large ice auger from one of the sheds, and drudged down to the lake, breaking a new path in the virgin snow. Huffing, he cranked the auger in the previous hole next to the log-chair he had placed next to it the last time he had decided to fish. He stared off into the white expanse as he cranked, attempting to find the leftover carcass of the caribou across the lake. It had disappeared, and he suspected some sort of animal had drug it off. This slightly worried him, as the beast might be back. He had chickens and goats and he knew their smell was like a a beacon.

He cranked, lower and lower, mind elsewhere. Not paying attention, he was slightly startled when a gush of ice cold water flooded over his boots. Looking down, he pulled out the auger and set it to the side of him, lying flat in the snow. He then removed his gloves, and dug out the remaining ice chunks that were floating to the top of the hole. His hands stung from the shock of cold, the liquid falling freely from his fingers. The ice inside was a smooth blue, the hole deep and dark.

Standing, he brushed the snow off of the log, grabbed the auger and flung it across his back, and drug himself back to the cabin. Too irritated to place the auger back in the shed, he had set it against the wood stacked on the porch, then entered his warm, inviting home. Or so he thought. Ryou was raging around inside, in a mad fit. Mariku was half tempted to leave and wander off in the woods for awhile.

"Where are my boots?" he almost screamed.

Mariku pointed at them, over in the corner of the cabin. He kept his gaze low.

Ryou quickly put them on, pulling and tugging and stomping around once they had encased his feet, "I need a coat. And gloves and a hat."

Mariku attempted to walk over to his bunk to dig around and find what Ryou had asked for, but Ryou had beaten him to it, shuffling past him. He had quickly found a coat and hat, but he was having trouble finding a matching pair of gloves. After a few moments of feverish searching, he settled for a mismatched pair. One was a large, military grade mitten with a tuff of beaver fur over the top. The other was a yellow leathered, 5-fingered glove.

He grinned over at Mariku, who had tensely picked up a coil of fishing line from a cabinet, along with a small box full of lures. He walked back out the door, keeping it open as a sign for Ryou to follow. He plodded back down towards the lake, Ryou right on his heels.

Ryou hadn't seen it snow yet - not here, anyways. The sky was a solid white, the small flakes falling slowly. He stuck his tongue out to catch some, but they often hit his eyes instead. He began to stumble a bit, then decided it wasn't a good idea to attempt to eat snowflakes while walking down a rugged trail.

Once they had gotten to the edge of the lake, Mariku had wandered off to a low-sitting birch tree, and began to cut away at a few branches with a pocket knife. Ryou had waltzed right over to the hole, and stared into the dark depths of the it. He plopped himself down on the log, playfully shuffling the snow with his feet. Before long, Mariku had returned to him, then removed his gloves as he dug around in the tiny tackle box. Removing a lure, he tied it to the end of the fishing line, then told Ryou to hold onto it. It was a small revenge that was ill-received, as Ryou had been careful when grasping it.

He walked away from Ryou, unraveling the fishing line from the spool as Ryou held the other end. Once satisfied at the length, he brought the line up to his mouth and ground his teeth, breaking it away. He put the spool in his pocket, then tied the loose end on one of the large branches he had cut, tying and winding it several times over. He then walked back over to Ryou and handed him the makeshift fishing pole.

Ryou grinned madly as Mariku set the lure into the water. It sunk out of sight, into the cold, dark depths. He felt the branch bob as the line jerked, a signal that the lure had gone as far as it could reach. Mariku stood next to him as he began to bob the lure, jigging it up and down in slow movements. Ryou scooted himself over a bit, making enough room for Mariku to sit. His butt was already numb from the cold log, but he didn't really care.

Stubborn and still slightly irked, Mariku simply stood next to Ryou, looking off into the white surroundings. He blinked as snow hit his eyes and cheeks, the cold spots agitating him. After awhile, he decided to sit, and placed himself next to the pale boy with the mismatched gloves.

"So, hey," Ryou started.

Mariku looked away, staring off towards the cabin, acting uninterested.

"How'd you get all the way out here? I mean. Here. In the middle of nowhere. So far from...anywhere."

After he had said that, Ryou mentally slapped himself. The way he had phrased it had sounded relatively stupid. After receiving no response from Mariku, he gently bumped him. Mariku shifted away from him, farther down the log. Offended, Ryou scoffed, then rammed into the other boy, sending him sprawling off the log and into the snow.

Annoyed and confused, Mariku glared over at Ryou, and attempted to rouse himself from the white fluff. Ryou laughed at him, watching as Mariku stood next to the log, refusing to sit back down. It went quiet again, then Ryou let out a few mumbles as his branch began to bob. He tested it, rising it up high. It continued to bob, then bent down harshly. Excited, he stood, then was completely lost with what he should do. He didn't have a reel.

Noticing Ryou's confusion, Mariku grabbed the branch from him and began to twist the line around it, hauling the fish slowly and surely to the surface of the hole. Ryou watched, excited, staring down into the cold darkness. Eventually, a tiny little trout popped to the surface, squirming and writhing. Ryou smiled as Mariku set the branch down, then firmly grabbed the body of the trout. He wrenched the small hook out, lying it next to him in the snow. With a snap, he opened his switchblade and stabbed the fish's head, twisting it. The trout jerked still, then trembled in its death throes.

Ryou watched this display with slight shock. It had happened so quick, so smoothly, it was hard for him to take it in. Mariku was so abrupt, so swift. It reminded Ryou of the butchering of the caribou, how Mariku had acted almost on instinct. Especially with how curt and acrid he acted while doing it.

Ryou stuck his tongue out as Mariku began to gut and clean the poor little fish, then looked away. He heard a few quiet splashes: Mariku was throwing the guts and insides back into the water. They sunk down into the deep blackness, disappearing from sight.

Mariku, thinking Ryou would have been satisfied, began walking back towards the cabin. Realizing this, Ryou grabbed at the hem of Mariku's jacket, pulling it slightly, "No. No. I want more. That fish is tiny."

Mariku sighed heavily, then dropped the little fish onto the snow. Exasperated, he collapsed to the ground, lying on his side, right next to the little carcass. He flapped his arm lazily, then lay still, facing away from Ryou. Ryou watched this odd display with bemused delight.

Knowing he had won, Ryou stuck the lure back into the water, and began unraveling the fishing line. It sunk into the deep depths, and he sat back down on the log, jerking the lure up and down. They stayed as they were in silence, with the snow cascading down upon them. The cold expanse closed in on them, casting a spell of peaceful lethargy. Ryou looked over to Mariku's prone form, and smiled quietly to himself.

000

Mariku had gone back to his carving, and Ryou had fixed his own supper of fish. He had caught 3 more after Mariku had his muted fit down on the lake. He had no idea what herbs and spices were in what cans, but when he asked, Mariku had simply shrugged, stating he didn't know. This baffled Ryou, and he wondered how Mariku knew what herbs and spices went with what. He resorted to sniffing them, but even then, he still wasn't sure what he was getting himself into. He hoped he wouldn't ruin his meal.

In the end, he had an overbearing meal, tasting heavily of different herbs and spices. He didn't really mind, and had picked the meat from the fish, until there was nothing left but skin and tiny little bones. He watched Mariku carve, studying his face and the way his hands moved the blade and turned the wood. It was a figure of a man - with a large beard and hat. The details were still lacking, but Ryou knew it would be beautiful by the time it was finished. He had already seen Mariku's other carvings that were lying around, hidden in the bunks and cabinets.

He asked Mariku if he wanted to do anything with the fish bones or skin, to which Mariku shook his head. Shrugging, Ryou threw them into the stove, using a cloth to open the door, as he had seen Mariku do. He then decided to dig around in the cellar, looking for some milk. He changed his mind once he saw the large, clay jug sitting next to the eggs, dully realizing that it would provide an escape from the inert boredom. Mariku looked to Ryou once he rose from the cellar, eyeing the jug with displeasure.

Ryou smiled wistfully at him, slamming the jug down on the table. Mariku jumped a bit at the sudden, loud noise, then stared at the jug, refusing to meet Ryou's gaze. At this, Ryou slid the jug closer to Mariku, bumping it against the carving he was working on.

Flustered, he looked out the window, then to Ryou. He was met with a sneaky smile, and he knew, by this time, that Ryou's smiles usually meant that he would suffer in some sort of arbitrary way.

000

Ryou had discovered a hand-knitted hackeysack underneath his bunk, shoved back in the corner in a pile of dust bunnies. He was elated at this small discovery, and was prompt in showing Mariku how to play with it. It had fallen apart after awhile, the little beans scattering across the floor as the colorful material frayed. Ryou wanted to eat them. He wanted to eat those old, hard little beans so bad that it hurt.

Fruits and vegetables were incredibly hard to come by. Mariku had used them as a sort of treat, somewhat like the sauna. They were scarce, and had to be unthawed. Even then, they didn't taste quite right. Not as good as they would have when they were fresh. Mariku would sometimes surprise him with a small fistful of blueberries, or a couple of potatoes and corn cobs from the distillery. Even so, most of their diet consisted of meat, eggs, milk, water and whiskey.

Especially whiskey. Because Ryou had his starched boredom, and it was never any fun getting drunk alone. And in the end, Ryou realized that Mariku was much, much more talkative and happy when he had a belly full of liquor.

"Can we eat those beans?" Ryou slurred.

Mariku let out a short, amused chuckle, something he had done more of in the increasing amount of days that Ryou had been there, though he would blame it more on the whiskey, "I don't know."

"Well," Ryou huffed, "...Well, I want to eat them."

Mariku had shrugged, then began picking them up off of the floor. Ryou helped, and Mariku began boiling a pot of water.

"I might get sick," Ryou stated.

"Probably."

"You'll make me all better if I do, right?"

Mariku pondered a moment, "No. No, this one is all you."

Ryou laughed, a low pitched jingle that made Mariku smile.

000

Ryou hadn't gotten sick. It may have been from the minuscule amount of beans, or it may have been from the large amount of whiskey that was residing in his belly, killing off any harmful germs.

"So. You were ignoring my question, a long time ago. On the lake. Few days ago. Whatever. Um. How did you get out here? All the way out here? Why not. Um. Egypt. Or something?" his hands moved erratically with his questions, and he blinked slowly, as if he were tired.

Mariku stared at Ryou from across the table, his eyes bleary as he slowly thought over this question, "I got...he wasn't...hm," he fumbled, voice quiet.  
Ryou waited for a proper response, staring at the dim light of the kerosene lamp.

"...Malik..."

At the name, Ryou's eyes shot up to gaze at Mariku's face, which had become contorted.

"Malik...um. He didn't want anything to do with me. You know? So I uh...I ran."

Mariku was quiet for awhile, and began scratching at the back of his neck, his fingernails clawing at the table. Ryou watched this in a stupor, attempting to sober his thoughts. The familiarity of the situation crushed him.

"I...I ran forever. Then Otto - Otto found me. Gave me a place to stay, as long as I worked and stuff. He gave me this -" Mariku lifted his arms, indicated the cabin, "-in exchange for making moonshine. Keep the still going. It was - it was his grandfather's. But he always said. Um. Always said that..." he trailed off, thoughts breaking. He rubbed his eyes, then looked at Ryou, dumbfounded, "I don't remember what he said."

Ryou briefly wondered who Otto was, but he supposed the short explanation suited him just fine. Ryou ran his right hand over the left, fingering the large scar that resided there, then slowly made his way up to the scar at the top of his arm. His thoughts went to his spirit, his own darkness that had run from him as well. Mariku watched this movement, and watched as Ryou's face melted into a look of pure anguish.

"Have you played 'Never have I ever'?" Ryou asked, attempting to change the subject towards something fun.

Mariku shook his head.

At this, Ryou gave a sloppy, toothy grin. Mariku attempted to grin back, but Ryou's smiles still worried him.

000

"Never have I ever skipped school."

Ryou drank to this, a quick shot that burned the back of his throat and festered in his belly.

"Never have I ever been in handcuffs."

Mariku stared off a moment, then took a shot. They were using little copper measuring cups, a thing Ryou had insisted so neither one of them could cheat. Their words were blending together, their hands sloppy, their eyes bleary, and they didn't care about anything in the entire world at this very moment.

"Never have I ever shot a gun."

Ryou wondered if a BB gun counted, but decided it did.

"Never have I thrown up on a complete stranger."

Mariku laughed, but left his cup on the table.

"Never have I ever been in the hospital."

Ryou let out a scoffing noise, then drank.

"Never have I ever caused someone to need stitches."

Mariku grimaced, and took a shot. Ryou grimaced back, thinking about it. They kept bantering back and forth, hitting a sudden dry spell where neither one of them drank. They laughed at each other's interesting mentalities and life incidents, but then - a hard, cold, horrible hit, one that Ryou hadn't even meant to ask - he had just been shooting out random phrases, random scenarios.

"Never have I ever killed someone."

Mariku's smile left his face, and he stared down at his little measuring cup. He brought it slowly to his lips, then shot it down, quick and scalding, and Ryou stared at him, horrified in a drunken daze. "No. No, now. No. I mean -"

Ryou's entertainment had dove down into a serious low, and he felt confused and sick. His stomach churned and he suddenly wanted to throw up, but managed to hold it down. Ryou stared into Mariku's eyes, those eyes that had gone dead and dull again. The violet gaze stared back at Ryou, and he wanted to cry, "What? Who? I mean - What?" He wouldn't have dared to ask such questions if he were sober. He would have been too afraid to.

Mariku looked away, furrowing his brows. He stared down at the table, bringing his hands up to his hair. He scratched his head irritably, then looked out the window. A deep sadness fell across Mariku's face, and he hunched down, his shoulders going slack.

Ryou knew he had lost Mariku, had lost the magic that had previously been shared between them, adrift in a blazing sea of whiskey. Mariku had fallen back into his depression so quickly that it somewhat disturbed Ryou. They stayed silent for a moment, then Ryou heard the soft whisper that caused absolute dread to spread across his entire body.

"Malik's father."

Ryou felt hot tears fall down his cheeks, and he began to understand, just a little bit, "Oh." was the only thing he could manage in reply. Mariku shrugged, still staring out the window. Ryou watched as a single tear fell down the tanned boy's cheek.

And then, Mariku burst forth.

He began slurring such a long, horrid tale of his life, of Malik's life. Of what they felt, how they felt, what they went through. Of the scars, the horrible, beautiful scars that resided on both his and Malik's back. He told how everything happened, how he could feel the darkness of the shadows taking ahold of him. And how he reveled in it, how he welcomed it. He told of how they heard of the Pharaoh's soul in the body of a young boy - in Yugi's body. How they sought it out, what Malik and Ryou's spirit had done together. How he ripped through Malik's mind and body to take it over, how he destroyed Mai and sent Ryou's body and spirit into the shadow realm. He told it up to the point of his own defeat on the top of Alcatraz tower. His tale was long and harsh, not lacking in details. It was numbing and frightening, cold and demented. After that, there was nothing, just stunned, despairing silence.

It was such a long, tortuous story. The fire had gone down to a low simmer, the coals red hot, waiting to be fed again.

Mariku put his hands to his face, covering his eyes as he shuddered. Ryou liked a talkative Mariku, but this was too much, it had gone too far. They had drank too much. They had gone past the happy area, and had fallen into the melancholy doom, full of anxieties and life woes. Ryou cried silently, tears freely falling from his face as his nose ran. His inebriated mind was having a hard time thinking about all of this - of understanding and filtering it. He felt sad for Mariku - for Malik, for Yugi, for Mai, for Malik's sister and brother. For everybody, even himself, because he had somehow got tangled up in that jumbled mess.

Ryou kept quiet, biting his lip as he sniffled. Mariku looked around the room, as if thinking. Then, he stood up, and quickly ran outside, his body teetering as if he couldn't see straight. Ryou heard retching, and the mere sound made him want to do so as well. Mentally and physically sickened, he followed Mariku outside, and, together they vomited the contents of their stomachs. The dark quiet of the outside world was broken by the two grieved individuals, their chests heaving with their sickness.

Ryou, finished and with his stomach empty, laughed at the absurdity of it. Before long, Mariku followed suit. The magic was still there, but in short, tentative waves. They went to bed with heavy thoughts and tired bodies, and Ryou decided that they shouldn't drink again any time soon.


	4. Chapter 4

Derp.

000 = time/setting changes.

They slept in late. This was not necessarily uncommon for Ryou, but Mariku had a tendency to be up at the crack of dawn to work on things and do chores. They lay in their bunks in self-loathing, their heads throbbing and their stomachs churning, bodies aching. It took them a very long time to remove themselves from their bunks, and even then, they merely glared off into the cabin, agitated and sick.

They mulled around for awhile, in absolute silence. Neither one of them wanted to bring up what had been said the previous night. It had been a sensitive subject, something that was hurtful for the both of them. Besides that point, noises felt as if they were drilling into their heads, painfully wreaking havoc upon their already aching minds.

Neither one of them wanted to eat anything, and they sipped on lukewarm water in an attempt to settle their bellies and remove the drowsiness that was locking them in a foggy stupor. Mariku had to restart the fire, as it had nearly gone out while he had overslept. This just further agitated him, and he sat in front of the stove, occasionally blowing on the red coals in an attempt to get them hot enough to burn through the kindling. Eventually it took off, but even then, he continued to sit in front of the stove, staring into the crackling fire. He tucked his hands beneath his legs, curling his toes as the heat billowed through the open door. Dazedly, he watched the flames grow bigger, dancing and curling around the small branches and bark.

Ryou sat at the table, his head in his arms. He bobbed his knee, a meager attempt to distract himself from his aching head and stomach. He tried to concentrate on the rhythm, attempting to keep his mind away from his festering belly. He didn't want to puke again, the vile taste had stayed in his mouth like a phantom, reminding him of his mistakes. Eventually, he couldn't take it anymore, and grumpily removed himself from the table, walking over to the door and going outside.

He leaned over the railing on the porch, vomiting the paltry amount of water he had consumed earlier. After a few moments of retching, he dry heaved and spat, his chest aching from the endeavor. Empty and miserable, he flopped down onto the cold wooden porch, leaning against the pile of firewood. The fresh, cool air felt good in his lungs and soothed his burning, throbbing skin. Occasionally the harsh smell of wood smoke would waft into his nostrils, but it came in short surges, the cold air mostly overwhelming it. He heard the soft cooing of the chickens close by, but all else was quiet.

After awhile, his body began to sting from the cold, and he hobbled back into the cabin, mind numb. He beelined over to his bunk, and flopped down into his pile of blankets and furs, smothering his face into the plush bed. Mariku was still sitting in front of the stove, but the door was now closed, the grates open. He was gazing at the ornate door of the stove, blinking tiredly as he curled and uncurled his toes.

They spent the entire day brooding, staying away from each other and avoiding anything that would make too much noise. They slept most of the day away, occasionally awakening to relieve themselves or drink a small amount of water. Mariku had taken snow from outside, wrapped it up in a cloth, and placed it on his head in an attempt to ease the pain. Ryou was slightly offended that he hadn't done the same for him, but, taking Mariku's example, went and did it for himself. The snow was cool and soothing, but only slightly helped against his headache .

Ryou dully realized that they had drank far more the previous night than they had at any other time. The fun game had turned into a nightmare, and from there, it just got worse. He attempted to remember how much they had drank - but it was impossible. Each little copper measuring cup, on top of several shots before that, had wreaked havoc. The whiskey was exceptionally potent, something Mariku had made himself.

Ryou hated himself. Hated himself for drinking so much, hated the fact that he had made himself suffer like this. But he also hated himself for hurting Mariku, not just physically. He knew the other boy was in as much misery as he was, but...probably even more, mentally. Ryou felt like garbage for even asking the question that broke the other boy. He hadn't meant to - not really. It was just a random, over the top, stupid question, one that he thought he wouldn't get any reaction from. But that wasn't the case. It had struck a tightly strung nerve, hitting them both like a snapped guitar string.

Telling someone your life story, especially if it was as ghastly as Mariku's had been...it wouldn't sit well. Especially when you were drunk while telling it. It was almost embarrassing, in a sense.

Liquor made the tongue loose, and vigorous thoughts would rupture forth. It made people say things, made them spill all their secrets, all their fears and deepest anxieties that were eating away at them. At least, when a certain point was reached it would.

Mariku had obviously reached that point.

Shuddering, Ryou rolled over in his bunk, gazing at Mariku. The darkness was sitting over in a dingy corner of the cabin by the door, staring listlessly at the back of the stove. A pang shot through Ryou's chest, and he sighed heavily through his nose. He removed the wet cloth from his forehead, the snow long since melted. He wiped his face with it, delighting in its cold feel, digging at the corners of his eyes.

Bitter and riled, Ryou suddenly threw the cloth at Mariku. It landed with a thick, wet noise, and Ryou glared down at the floppy wet material, lying a few feet away from the tanned boy in the corner. Mariku blinked at it, then furrowed his brows as he looked up at Ryou. Ryou furrowed his brows in return, and they had a short staring contest, assessing each other with resentful irritation.

In the end, Ryou had to look away. Mariku's gaze was incredibly intense and judgmental, upsetting in its dark values. Ryou deserved that menacing leer, deserved it for making Mariku sick, and for making him tell things he wasn't comfortable telling.

"I hate you."

Mariku's voice sunk deep into Ryou's soul, curling around him in dreadful knots. Ryou cringed, taking the words in. Mariku continued to focus his attention on Ryou, never breaking eye-contact. Mariku knew hate was a powerful word, and he knew it was mostly his pain that was talking through him. His physical and mental anguish pushed him. He was confused and upset, and the firm queasiness wasn't making him any better.

Offended, Ryou huffed, then turned his back to Mariku, curling up against the wall of the cabin as he went to the other end of his bunk. He wanted to apologize - wanted to say something, anything to soothe Mariku's suffering. He just didn't know what, especially after Mariku's small, yet sharp sentence. It threw him off, and in turn, hurt his ego.

Closing his eyes, he rubbed his nose against the bulbous wall of the cabin, attempting to fall back asleep. The surface of the logs scratched at his face, and he wondered if Mariku's soul was just as cold and rugged.

000

When Ryou awoke next, Mariku was gone and the cabin was dark. A small kerosene lamp - different from the usual one Mariku handled - lay on the kitchen counter, casting a small light across the room, feebly chasing away the murky shadows. The stove was blazing, and he was swift to remove all of his blankets and furs, sweaty and hot. He felt groggy, but most of his sickness seemed to had left him. He had no sense of what time it was, especially since his sleeping schedule was so off kilter from his horrific hangover. He wondered if they had suffered from a smidge of alcohol poisoning, but threw the idea out of his mind, too peeved to really think about it.

He stretched once he removed himself from the bed, his limbs shuddering. His body still ached slightly, but it was much more manageable in comparison from earlier. He briefly stole a peek at his large wound beneath his shirt, curious. It was mostly healed now, and all the little scratches and bruises surrounding had all but disappeared. He lowered his shirt, then wiped at his eyes, staring off into the room. He blearily fumbled over to the door to relieve himself.

It was remarkably cold outside, the frigid temperature attacking him in brute force, and Ryou was very quick to do his business on the edge of the porch. Before bolting back inside, he was distracted by a flicker of dim light above him. He jerked his head up in confusion, lifting his feet back and forth as they stung. His mouth slowly dropped open in awe as he stared up at the sky, eyes going wide. Greens, purples, yellows and reds danced across the stars, flaring and dazzling in the otherwise dark expanse. He stood and stared at the beautiful display for a moment, then yelled in surprise when he realized a face was staring back down at him.

Mariku blinked down at him from the top of the roof, face set in a frown. Miffed, Ryou frowned back, wondering if Mariku had watched him pee. "What are you doing up there?"

Mariku shrugged, then looked away. After a moment, his face left Ryou's view, as if he were hiding. Shivering, Ryou went back inside, slamming the door closed. He stood there for a moment, right by the door, pondering as his feet tingled. Flustered and a bit confused, Ryou flung a coat around himself, then quickly put his boots on. He destroyed one of the bunks, looking for a hat and a pair of gloves. Fully donned in warmer gear, he strutted back outside and began to explore the outer walls of the cabin, trying to figure out how Mariku had managed to climb up there. The cold stung his face, but he ignored it the best he could.

After stomping around in deep snow, in almost pitch blackness, he managed to find a homemade ladder leaning up against the side of the cabin. He shook it a bit, looking to see how high it resided. He tested his weight on it, slightly scared when the ladder creaked and shifted, almost as if it were made of rubber. Biting his lip, he began to climb, then awkwardly scrambled on top of the roof. Mariku was looking at him, an enclosed hurricane lamp sitting next to him, light dim. Completely graceless, Ryou crawled over to Mariku, careful to keep away from the smokestack that resided in the center of the roof.

Once near enough, he rearranged himself, curling into his coat and shifting it beneath him to keep his butt off of the layer of snow. He was still several feet away from Mariku, a bit wary of getting too close to him. Mariku continued to glare at him, slightly offended that Ryou had somehow managed to find his way up here to invade his privacy and the solemn silence he was reveling in.

Puffing up, Ryou looked up at the sky, watching the natural beauty occur high above. Neither one of them said anything, the crisp air tense between them. After a while, Ryou laid back, sprawling himself across the roof haphazardly. He sighed, blinking lazily as the black outlines of the trees clawed at the colorful heavens. He then looked over to Mariku, who was staring off into the sky, face blank. White puffs of breath escaped his mouth, and for some reason, Ryou thought this strange.

The magic of the outside world was breathtaking. The dark wilderness was overbearing, the mystic solitude blanketing over them. The stars shone brightly, twinkling and absolute. The colorful aurora played above them, twisting and bustling in itself, curling and fraying. The arctic air was frigid, infinite and striking. No cars, no sirens, the noise of a frantic city. No other lights but the small kerosene lamp and that of the sky. No other voices, no other people. Nothing but them and the unforgiving, beautiful, ruthless wilds.

Ryou suddenly felt very, very small, insignificant and lonely in this vast, dazzling world. Who was he, with his meager, cheap problems? He was nothing. A bleak, insignificant nothing. The only person keeping him alive right now was Mariku. Ryou didn't know where he was, he didn't know how to get out of here. He didn't know how to hunt. Regardless of Mariku's past, regardless of all the horrific things that he had done, regardless of all the people he had hurt...Mariku was something to Ryou. He was a strange, desolate individual, but he was a way out. He was a way home. And...truthfully, he was a way to cope with the thoughts of his own spirit. Maybe even to better understand the malevolent being that had destroyed his life.

Closing his eyes, Ryou began to contemplate. He could still see the stars and aurora above him, tattooed into his mind. Feeling small and guilty, Ryou began to voice his story.

Under the cold, dancing sky, Ryou told of when his mother and sister died in a car accident. How he wrote letters to his dead sister. How his father brought home the Millennium Ring, then left him. How his friends would fall into comas when they played with him, their souls being sealed into little dolls. How he moved around so much, how he hated getting close to people because of the spirit. How the spirit had hurt him, how he got the scars on his chest. How he had defied the spirit to save Yugi and his friends, the scar on his left hand the morbid proof. He told of all his blackouts, how he would wake up covered in blood, hungry and grossly tired. How he had somehow acquired all these strange, expensive belongings. How he had suddenly woken up on the blimp during Battle City, his arm bleeding, with Yugi standing before him wielding a duel monster of megalithic size. And how, in the end, the spirit had nearly destroyed the entire world, and how the pharaoh had stopped him. He had been a confused, jumbled mess the past few years because of the spirit's actions, not letting his body sleep, taking control for days at a time, and ruining his friendships and school grades.

After he told this, he realized how lame it all sounded in comparison with Mariku's story. It was still crazy, but not nearly as crazy as Mariku's harsh life. He almost felt as if he had been whining to him, complaining over something trivial. Mariku stayed silent, continuing to stare off into the infinite sky. He was mulling this over in his head, trying to understand. Ryou's story made him feel wicked and almost liable for the pale boy's woes, and he wondered if Malik had felt this way for what he had done.

"Why did you tell me this?"

Ryou brought his gloved hands to his head, covering his face, "I don't know," he sighed, "I'm sorry." He had felt compelled to do so, spellbound by the world around them, and still feeling at fault for making Mariku spill his own secrets. He wanted him to know that he wasn't the only one with problems, no matter how much worse they had seemed.

Feeling profoundly ashamed, Ryou lifted himself, then began to crawl across the roof, back towards the ladder.

"Don't leave," was the soft demand Mariku issued him.

Somewhat startled, Ryou stopped mid-crawl, then sat back on his knees. He looked to study Mariku's expression, to understand his motives, but his head was facing away from him, continuing to look at the sky. After a moment, Ryou crawled back towards the edge of the roof, then settled himself closer to Mariku than he had previously.

So different, yet so alike. One had reaped the souls out of individuals, breaking their minds and destroying their friends and family. The other had experienced the brunt of this, through the actions of someone else. It was a complicated, tangled web, one that they both were familiar with, though with opposed understanding.

And so they sat, quietly observing the alluring wonders above them, their thoughts lost in a sea of forlorn heartache.

000

For the next few days, a somber feeling had invaded the cabin, curling around the two boys that resided within its confines. They had unwittingly depressed each other, sending them into a morose spiral of melancholy thoughts and memories. The most damaging part was that they couldn't escape each other. There was simply nowhere to go, no one else to talk to, to interact with. And yet, they needed each other's company. The thought of someone else being there sliced away the demoralizing loneliness.

Mariku fell out of his creative groove, leaving his multiple carvings and fur projects alone. He dove into his guitar, performing quiet, wistful songs that kept his hands and mind slightly busy. Ryou realized he played mostly in his bunk, favoring the comfort of an enclosed, warm area plush with blankets and furs. Ryou would simply sit in his own bunk and listen to the melodies, taking some comfort in their harmonious sounds. They barely spoke to one another, eating in silence and letting their thoughts linger on different times, and on different people. Mariku didn't even go out to hunt as often, forcing Ryou to eat mostly caribou, eggs and milk. Once he had been so lazy he had simply killed one of his chickens to munch on.

A few questions would occasionally be asked between them, further stirring the pensive flames that were burning inside them. What the letters were about that Ryou wrote to his sister, how Mariku had interacted with Ryou's spirit, how many souls did the spirit seal away, how Malik's brother had kept Mariku at bay. Things where details were wanted, out of perverse curiosity and a sort of craving need.

One night Ryou asked to see Mariku's scars.

The tentative question caught Mariku off guard, and he stared despairingly at Ryou, silently asking 'Why'. Ryou gingerly met Mariku's gloomy expression, understanding if Mariku would tell him no. And yet, instead, he closed his eyes, removing his shirt. Ryou observed Mariku's lean body from his bunk, taking in the beautiful, muscular form. His skin was smooth and radiant, a dazzling bronze that shone in the dusky light of the kerosene lamp.

Mariku stared down at the floor, holding his shirt in his hand. He then looked to Ryou, meeting his steadfast gaze. His eyes stormed, a deep violet full of mournful, subdued anger. He closed his raging eyes, frowning sadly as he turned his back to Ryou, showing the pale boy his bitter legacy.

The moment Ryou had set his gaze upon the scars, tears had welled up in his widened eyes. He had languidly, almost subconsciously removed himself from the comfort of his bunk to step closer, to study the intricate designs. Unblinking, he stared at them, analyzing their intricacy. They were deepset, explicit in their arrangement across the skin. They stretched against the flesh, as if they had been carved a long, long time ago. They were horrendous and grotesque, beautiful and alluring. They were horrifyingly breathtaking.

Without even aware of himself, Ryou had reached a shaking hand out to touch them. His fingers barely even grazed Mariku's skin when the tanned boy jumped, then went rigid. Ryou swallowed a hard lump in his throat, his mouth going dry. Pensive, he traced his fingertips over the designs, feeling the coarse flesh weave across Mariku's back. An abysmal numbness consumed him as he continued to trace all of the patterns. He felt Mariku shudder, and watched as goosebumps formed over the tanned boy's unmarred skin.

His fingers ran over the feathered wings, to the ankh and hieroglyphics he would never understand. He outlined the almost neolithic depictions of the Egyptian God monsters, dully recognizing the one that was carved between the darkness's shoulder blades. He stubbornly blinked at the tears as they stung his eyes, a few falling down his cheeks. With great sadness, he realized Mariku was shaking with quiet sobs. Ryou suddenly shattered, his resolve torn apart. He leaned into Mariku's back, placing his face upon the tanned boy's scarred flesh, and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

And he wept.

He wept for Mariku's pain, for the demons that were still eating away at him. For everything that he had been through, and for all of the horrible things he had to endure, what he had done. How lonely and miserable he had become because of it, running away into a vast area of nothing, destroying all connections to the world, with all the people he had known. How lost he had been, and how lost he still was now.

He wept for Malik, for Jounouchi, for Mai. He wept for Malik's brother and sister, his father and mother. He wept for Yugi and the Pharaoh. He wept for himself, and for his dead sister and mother, for all of his friends. For his father who had run away, to dwell in his own sorrows. And then he wept for his spirit, because, somewhere deep down, he knew the malicious entity had reasoning behind his actions. Reasoning that was propelled by something he couldn't even control.

Much like Mariku.

000

The overwhelming grief had slowly dissipated for the next few days. The last few tendrils continued to curl around the cabin one morning, but eventually left them alone, and their bereavement was all but gone. They shared a sort of awkward relevance with each other, adrift in subtle depression. They would muse quietly on their own perspectives, at times poking fun at each other's smaller problems.

"You have a belly button."

Mariku looked over to Ryou, his mouth stuffed full with a boiled egg. He furrowed his brows at Ryou's tone, understanding it as some sort of an accusation. He promptly lifted his shirt to observe the said birthmark. It was a deep, dark scar, delving into his flesh. He brushed his fingers over it, then looked back to Ryou, confused and offended.

Ryou let out an amused grunt, staring at the darkness's muscled belly. He found the bellybutton entertaining and interesting, on a certain level. Mariku had been born of Malik's body, bellybutton and all, he supposed. A carbon copy. Maybe. He wasn't entirely sure how all of that worked out - his own spirit and the Pharaoh looked different. Especially his spirit. He was tanned and striking, muscular and tall...the only resemblance the spirit had with Ryou was the mess of white hair. The Pharaoh was a lot like Yugi, just slightly taller with darker skin. He had hard, older eyes, and his hair was more rugged.

Ryou found it unusual that Mariku would even have a bellybutton. He wasn't born - not in the conventional way. From what he understood, he was simply an alternate personality, belonging to Malik's subconscious. A being whose existence was furthered through the magic of the Millennium Rod. Shadow magic that was complex and difficult to grasp. He wondered why he was even granted a body. He had never been a spirit, never had a past life. But maybe you didn't need that aspect in order to get this sort of promotion. It was strange and bewildering.

In truth, Ryou thought Mariku's technical bellybutton would be the scars upon his back. The scars...the beautiful, ugly scars were the bitter sonance of Mariku's existence. His birth mark. The universal birth symbol on the belly should have been omitted from Mariku. He wondered if the bellybutton was simply a remnant from Malik's body, and Mariku had simply stolen a copy, like burning a CD.

Ryou wanted to poke at that bellybutton. He wanted to stick his finger in the warm flesh and twist it around, to make sure it was real. And then he felt stupid and perverse for thinking that. He was glad that Mariku wasn't standing closer, or else he might have actually done it.

Mariku's gaze went around the cabin, then back at Ryou, not entirely sure about what to think about his statement. He slowly chewed on the egg in his mouth, before popping in another. They were a quick snack, doused with salt and some sort of unlabeled herb that Mariku couldn't identify. Mariku muffled something through his full mouth, and Ryou blinked lazily at him, amused.

Realizing his fault, Mariku bobbled around, irritated before he could swallow his small meal to reply to Ryou, "So do you."

At this, Ryou smiled. Because, at that moment, he realized they weren't so different.

000

Ryou was staring out the window, making little swirls on the table with his fingers, bored out of his wits. Mariku sat across from him, piecing together one of the last of his fur projects. It was a hat, with feet dangling down on either side, a poofy tail protruding from the back. It was black with white speckles, and Ryou had to ask what animal it was from. He had been surprised when he was told it was a fox. He always believed foxes were generally orange, to which Mariku stuck his tongue out at him as an insult to his mild stupidity.

Ryou sighed heavily, placing his chin on the table.

"We should make a snowman."

Bewildered and disinterested, Mariku shook his head, letting out a quiet grunt.

"You know. A man. Out of snow," Ryou tried again.

Mariku shrugged.

Ryou pursed his lips, bringing his hand up to pull at the hat Mariku was working on. He tugged at it gently, and Mariku frowned deeply at him, irritated, "No."

Ryou scoffed, "Yes."

"No. I'm busy."

"No you're not. Let's get out and get some fresh air and stuff."

Mariku's brows crinkled, lips set in a pout, "Make a snowman yourself."

Mariku jerked the hat from Ryou's tentative hold, then shifted himself, facing towards the stove, continuing to pierce the leather with a thick needle. Aggravated, Ryou suddenly stood up, then snatched the hat out of Mariku's hands. He slammed it onto the table, staring intently at Mariku. Mariku's gaze stayed on the side of the stove, eyes wide with anger, thoughts in turmoil. Feeling belittled, Mariku sighed, placing his hands on his thighs. He curled his hands against his pants, knuckles going white. He looked at the hat, Ryou's hand still holding it against the table, the fur curling around his lithe fingers. Mariku wanted to finish it. He wanted to throw the pale boy outside, lock the door, and then finish his hat. Ryou shifted his hips, then drug the hat across the table, tossing it onto his bunk behind him.

At this, Mariku's hands slapped against his face, pulling at his cheeks. He knew he lost again, and Ryou's impudent grin made him feel even more diminutive.

000

Wary and apprehensive, he followed Ryou outside after they had dressed in their gear. The temperature had risen a bit, making the snow wet and heavy, instead of its usual light and fluffy. Perfect for making a snowman.

Ryou was quick to strut right out in the middle of the yard in front of the cabin, shuffling through the deep snow. He indicated for Mariku to follow, to which the tanned boy fidgeted, flustered and upset. He continued to stand on the path, watching Ryou roll a ball of snow with great apathy. He sighed heavily, wondering if Ryou would even notice if he snuck back into the cabin. Deciding that he would, Mariku simply continued to stand where he was, gazing off into the forest.

Something hard and cold suddenly blew up against his face, causing him to yell out in surprise. As he attempted to figure out what it was, another one hit him. Ryou was laughing at him from the yard, a high pitched cackle that was completely unhinged. Mariku felt foolish as it finally dawned on him what was happening. Aggravated, he quickly scooped up a small blob of snow, shaping it into a quick ball. He chucked it at Ryou, hitting him in the neck, causing him to squeal and laugh. Mariku gave him a savage smile in return.

The war was on.

000

At the end of it all, a haphazard, cockeyed snowman existed in the front yard, complete with a corncob nose that was eventually devoured by birds and squirrels. A large amount of the yard had been torn apart, and blotches of snow resided on the sides of buildings and trees where they had missed each other with their snowballs. Mariku's property had become a warzone, and they had become creative in what they used for shields.

With their faces red, their breath gone, and feet numb, the boys decided to retire into the cabin. They were wet, cold and exhausted, but in high spirits. They quickly removed all of their wet, heavy gear, lying them across the floor by the stove so they would dry. Covered with cold sweat, they picked at their clothes, laughing breathlessly at each other.

They spent the rest of the day making smalltalk, something that was genuinely rare between the two. Mariku wasn't an individual that easily opened up, something that Ryou had repeatedly attempted to change, mainly through an inebriated state or mild bullying. It often started with Mariku being ticked off, but by the end of it, Ryou always won out. The atmosphere was airy with a mutual affection for the other's company, and, for once, their morbid pasts didn't come up in their conversations.

Mariku never did finish the hat.

000

SHOULD I WRITE A LEMON NEXT CHAPTER? I KIND OF WANT TO. HUR HUR DUR.

But then I think it might be too soon. Or maybe not. Maybe I shouldn't even write one.

Idk.

Halp.

000


	5. Chapter 5

So. I went ahead and wrote a lemon. BUT IT'S NOT GOING TO APPEAR IN THIS CHAPTER TROLOLOLOLOL.

I wanted to write it so bad, I skipped to it, then back to this chap hur hur. You all have to wait and suffer, and this amuses me.

Also, people keep asking me, on this site and others, where I got the ideas for the setting and personalities.

This was supposed to be a oneshot. Chapter 1. Wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am. That was it. A oneshot drabble based on a cabin-setting. But then it...wouldn't...leave me alone, so...

I turned it into a longer, almost-autobiography, based on my own, random experiences from being out in the bush, or just derping around without any running water or electricity on a mini-farm. Because remote, tiny cabins are awesome like that, and being bored out of your mind and half-starving is fun. It's always great when your mind begins to deteriorate and you become agitated and depressed at everything as the subtle feeling of helplessness curls into your subconsciousness. That was sarcasm, by the way. I've also been studying social anomalies, and I've always had a liking towards socially awkward people with underlying tones of violence. They often have a hard time expressing themselves, and are sometimes childish in their endeavors: hence, Mariku. Ryou? Well. I reread the manga recently, and noticed Ryou wasn't as everyone really portrayed him to be: a shy little dude with a constant 'beat/rape me' persona. He's actually rather outgoing, and down to earth. Maybe just a little quiet, but if he doesn't like something, he'll tell you how it is and slap you around a bit while doing it. He also seemed to wear his emotions on his sleeves, and was quick to upset. Ryou practically wrote himself, a small reflection on my own opinions and personal antics, and maybe a small glimpse into his true personality. Or at least, what I think his true personality would be like, since he didn't really have much time in the series EVEN THOUGH, FOR OBVIOUS REASONS, HE SHOULD HAVE. I MEAN, REALLY.

And Otto is introduced in this chapter. He's a compilation of all the crazy, rugged, perverted old men I've met in my life. Which is, strangely, quite a lot.

Yup.

Anyway. Enough with all that shit. On with the story.

000 = setting/time breaks

000

Ryou awoke to something pulling at his cheek, repeatedly pinching it away from his gums and teeth to make a soft sucking noise. Agitated, he whacked at the offending article, then realized it was a hand. Bewildered, he opened his eyes to stare, bleary eyed, at Mariku, irritated and confused. Mariku blinked down at him, then walked away, over into the kitchen, as if it hadn't even happened.

Flustered, Ryou rolled over in his bunk, curling up against the cabin wall, "Weirdo," he called out, making sure Mariku had heard him. The wall was cold against his hot skin, and he rubbed his face on the coarse logs, relishing in the soothing surface.

After awhile, Mariku began cooking something amazing, the smells curling around the cabin, rolling over into Ryou's bunk. It swirled around him, forcing him awake as he continued to breathe in the fragrant aroma. It was a heavy, husky smell, and the air was soon thick and hot with the delicious scent.

Ryou groaned hungrily, flailing around in his bed, the sleep slowly wearing off. He rubbed at his eyes, sniffling as he rolled around in his bunk, untangling himself from the multiple blankets and furs, grunting and moaning tiredly. A sleeping bag let out a soft squeal as he ran his foot over it, rolling over to the side of the bed as he stretched. He suddenly fell down onto the floor, face first, and moaned angrily as he scrambled into a sitting position.

Mariku watched this spectacle with mild amusement. Ryou always had a hard time waking up, a slow, agonizing process that he repeated every morning and sometimes every afternoon, if he took a nap. He didn't like being awoken prematurely, and often lashed out with a short, unhinged temper. Once he had pushed Mariku away from him, kicking at him bitterly in an attempt to leave him alone to rest. It was an incident he never apologized for, though Mariku had a feeling he wasn't remorseful over it.

Mariku studied the pale boy sitting on the floor. His eyes were squinting, mouth set in a deep frown. Every now and again, he let out a soft grumble, blinking his eyes awake as he rocked his body gently, sighing heavily.

Ryou continued to sit on the floor, leaning against his bunk, even after the food was ready. Mariku placed the boy's portion on a small plate, a slab of spiced caribou, some scrambled eggs and a few blueberries with amber liquid cascading over them. He bent over Ryou, running the plate beneath Ryou's face, circling it a few times before walking away. It was a small secret he had learned to further wake the whitenette, something he found humorous yet necessary.

Coming out of his stupor, Ryou watched as Mariku walked away with his plate, setting it on the table with a soft clack. Frenzied, he crawled over to the table like some starved beast, fumbling as he set himself on one of the stumps. He stared at his food for a moment, tiredly observing the tin of milk and old fork set gently before him. Mariku positioned himself across from him at the table, then began munching on his own plate. Ryou, having lost all etiquette while suffering from constant, mild hunger, began sloppily stuffing his face, letting out small grunting noises in satisfaction. He was always hungry, his stomach never leaving him alone, even after he ate the small meals he was provided. As a small consequence, he often ate faster, and his meals would disappear before he could even register that he was eating them.

His lips and fingers sticky, Ryou realized he was eating something he hadn't previously during his stay at the cabin. It was sweet, thick and melted down his throat, a delicious something that made his eyes pop, "Oh. Oh, my god, Mariku what is this?" he asked, mouth full.

Mariku stopped eating, observing Ryou's excitement, "Honey."

Ryou suddenly glared at him, slamming his sticky hands down on the table, "HONEY? You didn't tell me you had honey, where did you get honey from? Jerk."

Mariku twirled his fork around awkwardly, then shrugged, somewhat frightened, "In a shed..."

"What else did you find in there?"

Mariku looked away, eyes wide as saucers as he set his fork down. He shrunk into his seat, then looked at Ryou, "Stuff."

Ryou squinted his eyes at him, then continued eating. Mariku sighed, knowing he had dodged a bullet, then went back to his own plate. Ryou was a touchy individual, and quick to upset, even over trivial matters. He almost seemed to argue simply for the sake of arguing, finding faults in anything Mariku said or did. He was an agitated individual that would easily break as the hours passed by. Mariku wouldn't have known, but the cabin itself was slowly destroying Ryou's resolve. It was closing in on him, a cage that he couldn't escape, even if he went for a quick walk outside. That was just a new, fresh enclosure. It was more complex and complicated, but it was still a cage that he couldn't break away from on his own. The land itself seemed to curl around, sending him spiraling back into the tiny, hot cabin. It was suffocating him.

After their meal, Ryou had attempted to wash the sticky honey off of himself with some snow, though it proved a bit difficult. It stuck to him stubbornly, and he resorted to sucking on his fingers and licking his lips repeatedly. Satisfied, though still a bit sticky, Ryou looked around the cabin, eyeing for any inkling of the "stuff" Mariku had spoken of. He noted several small jars of honey on the kitchen counter, along with a blue tin he hadn't seen before, but that seemed to be the end of the "stuff".

Mariku was sitting at the table, putting the finishing touches on a jointed wooden carving. Ryou wanted to go an explore the shed, to find what else was in there that Mariku had missed. Maybe there was more food, or a board game, or something amazing he'd never even seen before. Popping his lips, he wandered around the cabin, eyeing Mariku's carving with mock interest in a quiet attempt to get his attention. He watched as Mariku rolled the carving gently across the table, testing it. Ryou shook his head, mouth dropping open in amazement. The carving _moved, _and he realized it was rigged to shimmy around like a worm on wheels. It was jointed together in four pieces, bobbing up and down as the wheels turned. Genuinely interested, he watched as Mariku tied a leather string into a hole on the front, then set it on the floor. He pulled it slightly from where he sat, yanking it around awkwardly, and Ryou laughed, completely elated. He snatched the string from Mariku's hand, then walked briskly around the cabin, dragging the little pully toy behind him, watching it move. He laughed childishly, amused beyond rational thought.

Mariku watched him cackle around the cabin, dragging the little toy behind him. He narrowed his eyes at Ryou in wonder, not entirely understanding. Realizing he was being silently judged, Ryou stopped pulling the toy, and gave Mariku an embarrassed smile, "NO. No, don't look at me like that. This - this thing is so cool," he laughed, gently tugging at it, feeling stupid.

"Weirdo," Mariku replied, throwing Ryou's morning insult right back at him. Ryou stuck his tongue out in response.

000

Ryou had somehow managed to drag Mariku out to the shed that he had found the honey in, much to Mariku's distaste. Mariku had tried to simply point towards the shed, but Ryou wasn't having it. He didn't like going out alone most of the time. He was used to stumbling out to the frigid, stagnant outhouse with the cold toilet paper and even colder seat. Or the sauna, where he would bathe, and at times perform his own self stimulation, a bit shamefully. But a new area - the shed - was something different, and the unknown interior and aspect slightly scared him.

Ryou ran up to the shed, Mariku slowly dragging himself up behind him. Ryou jerked the door open, eyes wide as his face split into a grin. There was...stuff. Everywhere. Piled along the walls, hitting the ceiling. There was a small pathway among all the junk, going to the back wall. Ryou started digging around, picking things up to look at them through the light of the doorway. He told Mariku to quit blocking the light, and Mariku sat down in the doorway, putting a hand to his cheek. Most of the items Ryou picked up had dust and cobwebs on them, and were exceptionally old. Tin cans, oil cans, cannisters, wooden and cast iron tools. There were various antlers and furs, rotten and falling apart, covered in cold, foul dust. Ryou sneezed as he worked his way farther back in the shed, stepping over things. He began to wonder how Mariku had even found the honey to begin with.

Ryou looked around, marveling at the various items. There was a massive pile of straw and bagged grain in one of the corners, a tiny pathway leading over to them. He guessed that they were for the chickens and goats, a stockpile that had been slowly dwindling down over the weeks since Mariku had gone to town to resupply. He continued to dig around, finding signs and knik knaks, curled wires and frayed rope. There was so much stuff it was impossible to really find anything useful. He was constantly bumping into things, causing the items to shift and rattle. He bit his lip, attempting to find some sort of foodstuffs as Mariku had. Feeling astray, he began to dig around the shelf by the grain and straw, opening old coffee cans with metal lids. Most of them had screws and nails, washers and nuts.

And then, he found something marvelous. An old tin can featuring an old lady and young girl, labeled 'Mazawattee Tea' met his sight, and he ripped the lid off with such fervor that it flung across the room, hitting some junk before clattering to the floor. Tiny, dried tea leaves lay inside, a deep brown and green. He shook them around, then smelled them, reveling in the dull, herb scent. Grinning, he turned around, searching for the lid. Unable to find it, he set the jar back on the shelf, mentally memorizing its spot, before picking up more cans and jars. He'd be damned if he didn't find something else worth his time and efforts.

000

Ryou had forced Mariku to carry various things back to the cabin. He had found a bottle of old Butterfly absinthe, still unopened, some coffee beans, several cans of spices and herbs, salts and peppers, a yo-yo, some moldy books, a very old mancala board, and a rusty can of crisp noodles. Mariku was wary of the absinthe, and insisted that they leave it where it was. It was a potent drink, and he didn't know if it aged well or not. Ryou had mulled over this, rolling the worn, green bottle around in his grasp, but in the end, decided to take it back to the cabin with him.

Thoroughly excited about the noodles, Ryou was quick to boil some water for the hard, yellow strings. He fried up some pieces of caribou retrieved from the cellar, and he had a strange, caribou-noodle lunch, using the new spices and herbs he had found in the shed. Mariku had pointedly let Ryou eat the minuscule amount of noodles by himself, as he wasn't yet hungry, nor did he think Ryou really wanted to share with him.

Ryou laughed as he ate, happy to have a new texture to enjoy, even if it would only last for that single meal. He wondered if there was more foodstuffs in the shed, but he figured they would be too hard to get to, and may even be bad for them to eat, as old as everything had seemed to be.

Ryou had dish duty, and had thrown them in a steaming, galvanized bucket over the stove. He often had to soak their dishes, as they didn't wash or rinse them after their meals, and often ended up stacked up on the counters, filthy and crusty. Ryou missed running water, missed the light switches, and the ability to go to the store and eat anything he desired. He also missed taking hot showers every morning, and wearing clean clothes that smelled like lavender soap. He began to realize he was taking so much for granted.

Sticking his tongue out in thought, Ryou looked over to Mariku, who was reading the back of the absinthe bottle. Ryou wanted to drink it, to see what it tasted like. He heard it had been banned, but his knowledge of it stopped there. He also wasn't sure if Mariku would be comfortable drinking again so soon, or if it was even any good, considering how old it looked.

"I need to check your stitches."

Startled out of his reverie, Ryou looked over at Mariku, disliking the implications of those words. He glared, silently telling the tanned boy 'no'. He knew they needed to be removed, as the skin was almost fully healed, starting to grow over the edges of the stitches. He knew it would be painful to remove them, and had been putting it off for as long as possible. The mere thought of the little strings being pulled through his flesh made him shudder.

Mariku gazed at Ryou's side, setting the absinthe bottle down on the table. He then sat himself down on one of the stumps, lazily meeting Ryou's fearful stare. Ryou looked away, focusing on the dishes, picking off the food with wrinkled fingertips, trying to get the thought of his stitches out of his mind. He didn't want Mariku to even look at them, and he'd be damned if the boy somehow got ahold of him to even remove them.

000

Ryou was leaning against his bunk, holding onto the top frame tightly, arching his back as Mariku began to pull the stitches from him. His shirt lay on the floor, cast away in a quick, mock-fight.

"Ow, oh, ow, oh, God, ow."

Ryou shuddered, shifting his feet uncomfortably on the floor, watching as Mariku sliced at the thick stitches with a knife before pulling the small tendrils from his flesh. It was a very strange sensation, he could actually _feel _them rippling beneath his skin, being pulled out with gentle tugs. They stung, and a few, tiny trails of blood flowed down from the minuscule holes in his skin. Sickened, he looked at the door, refusing to look back down. He continued to squeal out his discomfort, knuckles going white against the bed frame.

After a while, the tugging stopped and Mariku stood, stepping away from him as he wiped the blade against his pantleg. Revolted, Ryou looked down to his wound. It was a garish pink color, the tiny holes where the stitches once resided now a vibrant red. Mariku came back to him, slapping a wet rag of whiskey onto the wound, something that Ryou hadn't even expected or heard Mariku fetch.

He frowned deeply, shuddering as Mariku wiped the rag over the wound in an ineffectual manner. He then threw it over on the kitchen counter, quickly crawling into his bunk as if his life depended on it. He jerked his blankets around, throwing them and getting tangled, obviously agitated. Ryou gawked at him, baffled. Mariku never took naps, and rarely crawled into his bunk when he could be working on something. "What are you doing?"

"Headache."

The single worded reply explained a lot, so Ryou left him alone. There wasn't any sort of simple medicine to cure a headache, no aspirin or ibuprofen. They just had to wait it out, hoping it would dissipate in a timely manner. Fresh air sometimes helped, as did sleeping.

Retrieving a new shirt from his duffle, Ryou crawled into his own bunk, eyeing the little stitches that resided on the floor by his bed. He lay on his side, pouting as his wound twinged from its sudden disturbance. Earlier, Mariku had pulled the hem of Ryou's shirt up to take a quick peek at the wound, and that was enough for him. He had to fight Ryou into taking his shirt off, to take the stitches out. He argued that the skin would grow over them, and they could get infected. Upset, Ryou had thrown his shirt at Mariku's face, waiting in dread for Mariku to begin to work on him. It hadn't been as bad as he thought it was going to be, but it was still painfully traumatizing.

The warmth of the stove radiated over towards Ryou's bunk, rolling around in the small area. He snuggled into his hot blankets, poofing up a sleeping bag he decided to use as a pillow. He slid his face against it, the silky texture curving around his head. Lids heavy, he began to drift off, and for once, his belly didn't ache with a deep yearning for food.

000

"Hey. Hey, what is that."

Mariku moaned, aggravated at Ryou's constant questions and issues with everything they were doing. It had started with how the stove worked, then went on to why Mariku drank directly out of the milk jars instead of using a cup, where all the jerky suddenly appeared from, how come most of Ryou's shampoo was gone, why that one rooster decided to crow in the middle of the night, and why did they have to chop more firewood even though there was a massive pile on the porch. Among many, many other complaints, most of which were mild and useless to even complain about.

"No, no, now. I'm serious. Listen."

Mariku stopped chopping the firewood, setting the splitting maul against his side. Annoyed, he pursed his lips, gazing at Ryou. Ryou was stock still, holding a few pieces of wood in his arms, prepared to take them back to the cabin. Mariku sighed heavily, waiting for Ryou to say 'oh it must have been nothing', but then he began to hear the noise as well. It was a low buzzing sound, constant and getting louder, and he immediately knew who and what it was. He mumbled, eyes wide as he flung the maul across his shoulder, then began trekking back towards his cabin. Bewildered, Ryou followed.

Mariku set the splitting maul on the porch, and Ryou stacked his armful of firewood with the rest of the pile. Turning around, he expected Mariku to still be there, but he had disappeared. Curling around the cabin, he realized Mariku had taken off down the pathway towards the lake, and Ryou jogged to catch up to him, his feet crunching in the snow.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's going on?"

Mariku didn't answer him, continuing his quick jog down to the lake. Huffing, Ryou realized he wasn't going to get an answer, and simply followed Mariku down the beaten pathway. When they reached the edge of the lake, Mariku halted, causing Ryou to bump into him. Ryou mumbled grumpily, stepping away as Mariku continued to stand where he was, completely still, as if Ryou hadn't even touched him.

Pursing his lips, Ryou studied Mariku's expression inquisitively. His brows were lifted, eyes wide, his tongue barely sticking out between his lips. Ryou wanted to pull that tongue, to mock Mariku's blatant excitement over something Ryou wasn't even sure of.

The buzzing was exceptionally loud now, and Ryou finally realized what it was: a plane. A rush of thoughts and emotions filled him, and he had to keep himself from getting too excited. Before long, a dash of yellow flashed overhead, almost touching the tips of the trees. Mariku bit his lip, watching as the small plane circled against the blue sky, then began a quick descent onto the lake. It hit hard, bobbing a bit as it skidded to a slow drawl, the skis scraping against the snow. Once on the ground, the plane circled, slowly sliding over towards where Mariku and Ryou were standing, its propeller spinning, motor humming.

Afraid and confused, Ryou stepped behind Mariku, eyes wide. This would be the only other person besides Mariku that he had seen in several weeks, and he wondered if he would somehow be in trouble for something, or if there was something Mariku wasn't telling him. After a moment, the humming died off with a few sputters, and all was quiet once more. Ryou heard the click of a door opening, then shuffling as someone hopped out onto the snow.

"Hey, kiddo!"

Ryou peeked over Mariku's shoulder slightly, taking a look at the individual who popped out of the plane. It was an old man, wearing a pair of worn denim and a thick red plaid shirt with a hood pulled over his head. His feet were encased with large, white rubber boots. A gnarled beard flowed down from his wrinkled face, and his eyes shone brightly between a large red nose. Ryou smiled humbly, entertaining himself with the thought of Santa.

The man continued to walk forward towards Mariku, a large smile on his face, obviously glad to see him, "Good to see you're still kicking. Thought something might've happened to you, you're about a month behind, yeah?"

Mariku shrugged, not saying anything.

Once close enough, the man gave a hard slap to Mariku's shoulder, and Ryou stepped away, somewhat embarrassed.

"OH. Oh," clearly startled, the man jerked away, staring at Ryou like he was some sort of hellish fiend. Confused, the man blinked at him, bobbing his head as he looked from Mariku back to Ryou. Mariku was still staring straight forward at the plane.

"Um. Hi," Ryou stated, awkwardly.

The man gasped, as if he expected Ryou to be a silent hallucination. "Well, hello! Who might you be?"

"I'm Ryou," he said, voice small.

The man tested the name on his tongue several times, pronouncing it throatily. He then shot his hand out, demanding a handshake, "Pleasure to meet you, Ryou, though the circumstance is damn weird. Name's Otto."

Ryou accepted the handshake. Otto's hand was hard and firm, calloused and warm. Ryou smiled, attempting to remember where he had heard the name before.

Releasing Ryou's hand, Otto punched at Mariku's shoulder again, "Been hiding out here with your ladyfriend, eh?" he snickered.

Ryou's mouth fell open as he gaped, offended.

"I am NOT a girl," Ryou huffed.

Mariku let out a short cackle, turning to look at the pale boy with great amusement.

Otto looked at Mariku in surprise, then turned a long, hard gaze at Ryou, brows furrowed and eyes wide. He reached his hands out and poked at Ryou's chest, and Ryou stepped away, irked. Otto smiled at him, pulling at the boy's white hair, "Coulda fooled me!" he laughed.

Otto began walking up the pathway towards the cabin, and Ryou glared at Mariku, peeved and embarrassed. Mariku grinned smartly at him, then followed Otto up the trail.

000

Ryou observed Mariku and Otto entering the shed with the moonshine still, and decided to retreat into the cabin. Flustered, he removed his boots and coat. He wondered if Otto could get him out of here - take him back to...to somewhere, in his plane. But then a sudden flood of horrifyingly loud and frightening memories rushed him, and he remembered the plane crash he had experienced in a plane about the same size as Otto's. The thought of riding in a tiny plane made him feel sick and panic-stricken.

Antsy, Ryou shuffled around the cabin, not entirely sure what he should be doing. Feeling useless and lame, he crawled into his bunk, lounging against all the blankets and furs.

Suddenly the door opened, and he watched as Otto entered the cabin, holding a small jar of clear liquid. He dully recognized it as the same swill that had ruined his and Mariku's lives for a night and a day, and was a bit weary to see it enter the confines of the cabin once again. Otto grinned at him, closing the door. Confused, Ryou asked where Mariku was at.

Otto blinked a few times, "Mariku?" he fumbled over the name, mispronouncing it.

Oh. Yeah. Ryou had technically named him, so the familiarity of the boy's label was only relevant to the two of them.

"Uh. It's what I...named him? I guess."

Otto smiled, setting the jar down at the table as he began to sweep across the cabin, looking at things and opening the cupboards, "Yeah. I never could get a name out of him, either. Everyone in town calls him 'The Egyptian'. Why...Mah-dee-koo? Weirdo name."

Ryou thought it would be too hard to explain the whole story, and even harder to get Otto to believe it, so Ryou simply shrugged.

Otto continued to poke around the cabin, looking at the hats and carvings Mariku had made. Ryou asked where Mariku was again, and Otto looked up at him, as if he just noticed he was even there, "Loading up the...ah. Putting stuff in the plane," he stated nervously, looking away from Ryou.

"The moonshine?"

Otto looked at him, pursing his lips, "Yeah," he strained, "I'm a bit too old for it."

Otto obviously disliked the fact that Ryou even knew about he moonshine, or the still. Miffed, he set a carving down, then walked back over to the table, "So how did you get all the way out here, Ryou? There's not necessarily a bus stop just right outside the door."

Sighing, Ryou told Otto of how he was supposed to be visiting his father. And then how the plane crashed, and Mariku somehow dragged him back to the cabin.

Otto suddenly went pale, staring at Ryou with wide eyes, "Were you in Dylan's plane? A red plane?"

Ryou nodded, reminiscing.

"Oh, shit, kid. Dylan's been missing for a couple weeks now - we just called off the search a few days ago. Is Dylan with you, or...?"

Ryou shook his head sadly, "No, he's dead."

Otto looked to the floor, a soft murmur escaping his lips, "Well. Where's the plane at? Dylan's body?"

Feeling uncomfortable and scrutinized, Ryou could only shake his head again, "I don't know where the plane is. Dylan's...body is still...in the plane. I guess. That's what Mariku said."

"And how long has that been?"

Ryou mulled over this, thinking. The days blended together so perfectly, the hours and time of day completely irrelevant, "I don't know. I remember I flew out on the 7th? So. All the days after that until now?"

Otto rolled his eyes to the ceiling, fidgeting as he faced his back towards Ryou, "That kid," he started "Don't do things right. He should have brought you straight to town. Which reminds me, how are you? You don't look all that banged up," he stated, waving his hand at Ryou, indicating his body.

"I'm okay, now. Had a few really bad cuts, but Mariku took care of them..."

Otto stared at him for a moment, then huffed, "Yeah, and what about everything else? I know that might sound mighty odd, but I mean it. That kid ain't right up here," he said, gently tapping at his temple, "You gotta be kinda careful around him. He's a bit off, but that doesn't necessarily mean he's bad."

Ryou let out a short laugh, amused that this old man knew Mariku just about as well as he did, "Yeah. Yeah, I know. I'm fine. Mariku's just...misunderstood."

"I'll say," Otto drawled.

They were silent a moment, then Ryou mused over a few things that had been bothering him for awhile, things that Mariku never told him,"How did he end up out here? How did you meet him?"

"Mmmh," Otto murmured, "First time I met him he was all scrawny and beat up, among other things, but I won't go there. It's sick what was wrong with him, and I don't mean just mentally. He straggled in for some labor work at a harbor in Egypt - and don't you ask me why I was there - he came in for under-the-table pay, and I noticed he learned quick, kept to himself. He was quiet, but did a damn good job. Had problems with other people, though. Couldn't talk to them right, communicate, sometimes had little tizzies with them. They thought he was retarded, but I know he's not. He's just odd. So I offered to bring him out here, show him how to handle stuff. It just kinda went from there. Had to pull some major strings to get him over here, though, the kid doesn't even have an ID, much less a passport, and won't even tell anyone his name," Otto shrugged, indicating that was the end of his short, vague tale.

Ryou watched as Otto set himself down at the table, opening the jar and taking a quick gulp of the clear, burning liquid. He let out a throaty grunt, then laughed cheekily. Ryou wondered over what kind of man Otto was. He was obviously into illegal work, not just with the moonshine here, but there was probably something else he was meddling with wherever he had found Mariku. It appeared that he had a big heart, as not just anyone would take someone like Mariku in, much less bring him all the way out here. Or maybe he was just using Mariku like a pawn for his own profit.

"I can't take you back right now. Back to...wherever. The hell out of here," Otto stated, swinging an arm towards Ryou.

Ryou looked at him awkwardly, "That's...that's okay. I didn't really want to ride in the plane, anyways."

Otto laughed at him, a deep, scratching noise that shot through the cabin, "No, not after all that horseshit, I'm sure," then he changed his expression, his face suddenly going dark, "Are you calling me a bad pilot?"

Startled, Ryou attempted to defend himself, "NO! No, not at all. I mean - I was just -"

Another throaty laugh was ripped from Otto's throat, and he punched at Ryou's shoulder, "I'm just giving you shit."

Ryou laughed nervously, watching as Otto scratched at his chin, completely invisible beneath the bushy beard. Ryou studied him, attempting to discover who this old man really was. His face was wrought with deep wrinkles, set in his flesh like a marked canyon of rivers, old and wise. His lips were cracked and dry, nose bulbous and red. His gray beard cascaded down to his chest like some gnarled waterfall, a forest of scraggly locks. His hands were wrinkled and calloused, bony and rugged, like some ancient relic. He had walked with a slight limp, with his back and shoulders slumped forward. His clothes were dirty and wrinkled, with tears in the knees of his pants - showing the longjohns beneath. But it was his eyes that really stood out - the vibrant, glistening eyes full of wonder and mischief. The kind of eyes that cast you under a mesmerizing spell, lost in a torrent of untold stories, merriment and woes. They were wisdom itself.

"I never seen that kid smile, much less laugh, you know."

Ryou sobered, squinting slightly as he remembered Mariku's mocking cackle down on the lake, "No?"

"Nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard that laugh. It was a mighty strange sight. I think it's been good, you being here."

Ryou's expression softened, and he fidgeted in his bunk, "We kind of met a long time ago, once. Sort of." Ryou furrowed his brows, thinking.

"Yeah? Small world," Otto began stroking his beard, looking at the cellar door, "Maybe that's why he kept you here. A familiar face, a bit of company," he cleared his throat, looking over to Ryou, "

The door suddenly opened, and Mariku stepped in slowly, looking around the cabin, noticing a few things had been messed with.

"Finished, boy? Good on ya. Grab a cup, we'll have a quick toast."

Mariku's face curled into a grimace, then looked to Ryou as if it was his fault. Ryou laughed at him, knowing full well of the implications of "the quick toast". But Mariku did as he was told, fetching a tin cup and bringing it back over to the table.

"Get one for your boyfriend, too, eh?" Otto waggled his brows at Ryou. Mariku frowned, and Ryou gaped hotly. Sighing, Mariku grabbed another cup as he stared at Ryou, silently telling him not to take this drink too far, as he had previously. He knew of Ryou's love of the devil's brew, and he started mulling over other things that could distract him from it later. Especially from the absinthe. Otto poured the contents of the jar into their cups, saving some for himself. He let out a warm chuckle, watching as Mariku handed the lazy whitenette his cup.

"To...ah, to the Batmobile," Otto grinned, bobbing his jar before taking a long gulp.

It took a moment to realize that was the toast, and Ryou took a quick sip, smiling to himself as his belly burned.

000

Otto had been quick to survey the property, poking his head around the sheds and observing the chickens and goats as Mariku silently watched. He poked at Mariku to shovel the chicken coop off, but that was his only complaint. He told Mariku to bring back a few crates that were in the plane - full of fresh fruit and condiments that Ryou had dove into like some famished demon.

Later, back in the cabin, Otto had demanded for Mariku to tell him where Dylan's plane was - the plane that Ryou had been riding in. Mariku shrugged, not entirely sure, himself. He was able to point in the direction, voicing off roughly how far. It was a slightly inadequate measurement for Otto, but he assumed he would be able to find the stark red plane in the snow with relative ease.

"What were you doing way up there?"

"Tracking a fox. I saw the plane go down."

Otto hummed to himself, thinking. "You should have brought your friend here to town. To the hospital. Could have saved a lot of time and money with the search, too. Is your snowmachine running alright?"

Mariku stared off at the wall, nodding his head.

"Why didn't you, then?"

"Why didn't I what?" Mariku snapped, aggravated.

Otto raised his brows, "Don't you get all pissy with me, you little shit. Why didn't you go to town?"

Mariku stayed quiet, peeved and upset with the insulting label. In all honesty, he didn't know. He told himself that he didn't want to move Ryou around while he was injured, to haul him so far on such a bumpy, unreliable ride, but something else at the back of his head told him otherwise. That there was another, subtle reason that he couldn't place. Sure, it would have been a bit difficult to make enough money for gas to get back without anything to trade - but several people in town allowed him to perform menial chores and tasks in exchange before, and he was sure he could have done it again.

Otto looked over to Ryou, realizing he wasn't going to get an answer out of the fidgeting Egyptian. He thought it might have had something to do with Mariku's previous familiarity with the boy with the strange, white hair. Maybe Mariku was lonely and needed familiar company - something that was plausible on many levels. But then he realized Mariku was being possessive, in a certain sense. The boy looked healed enough - well enough to go to town and get on with his life. Do what he needed to do, to visit his father or whatever he was doing. Mariku was keeping him here on purpose, pulling him back, subconsciously or not.

Slowly, Otto's gaze went back to Mariku, eyes dark.

"I want you to take him to town within three days."

Mariku continued to stare at the wall, acting as if he hadn't heard.

"You hear me? He needs to get on with his life, he's healed up. Wouldn't hurt for him to visit a clinic just in case. You need to up your supplies, too. You're getting low on feed for your chickens and goats, kid. Any further and you'll have to start killing them off to keep some of 'em alive."

Otto watched as Mariku's mouth twitched, the boy's eyes growing wide. He had hit the mark, "I'll uh...I'll try to find Dylan's plane. Radio the coordinates in. Inform the authorities that Ryou here is fine and should be reappearing in society in a few days. I have my own business to attend do, else I'd take him back myself."

Ryou kept to himself during their small conversation, silently mulling over Otto's words. _Three days_, he thought, _I get to go back within three days._ He stared at Mariku's back, wondering what the other boy was thinking.

Otto gave Mariku a hard stare, cursing at him to get a radio next time he was in town, then promptly exited, leaving the two boys in bitter silence, lost in their own thoughts.

000

So.

Lemon.

Next chapter.

It's happening. Imma do it.

After some more semi-bonding, of course. They have a weird relationship.

ALSO ALSO. Thinking about. Writing. A lot more? Like. Throw in some eventual gemshipping. Then. Then rustshipping? Because shut up.

AND A BIG THANK YOU TO ALL MY REVIEWERS. I LUV YOU ALL. You guys watch The Last Unicorn? You know that pink tree with the big tits, squeezing poor little Schmendrick in her bosom? Yeah, that's what I'd like to do to you. Minus the whole...if I die I'll take you with me thing.

...nevermind.


	6. Chapter 6

Holy shit this chapter is long. How the fuck did that even happen.

Oh, yeah.

Smut.

...and I just realized I could have made this whole fic in a massive hostage-rapefic with a side of severe mind fucking. The setting would have been so perfect for it.

hahaha -

I'm sick.

000

Mariku's guitar was stunning. It was a beautiful amber color, a cracked blonde showing through in areas that have been rubbed more than others. The neck had bone and shell inlay that glistened in the light, brightly shining against the deep amber. Leaves and vines wove down the neck, rolling beneath the frets in spirals, curling and flowering around the soundhole. The back of the guitar was dazzling, a brilliant, inlaid mosaic of lustrous shells forming baroque scrollwork encasing an alluring, nouveau styled woman. The leaves and flowers curled and swirled, each piece perfectly set in with precise artistry. The tuning keys were engraved, worn from the constant fondling of calloused fingers. Ryou breathed in deeply, reveling in the intoxicating divinity. The deep, husky scent seeped into every inch of his being, weaving itself in coils and only leaving when the guitar left his hold. It was pure inebriation, heady with the fragrance of ages past, moons gone and stories lost to the times.

Ryou turned the guitar carefully in his grasp, awestruck. It was the most beautiful guitar he had ever seen in his entire life. He knew it was old - old like everything else Mariku owned and used in this cabin. He plucked at the strings carefully, listening to the rich tone that struck forth like a siren's hymn. He hummed softly, spellbound by this sublime instrument. He had never thought to look at Mariku's guitar more carefully, to really study it. Before, he had merely glanced at it while it was in the bunks, or while Mariku had been playing it. Now, he had it within his arms, his fingers running over the inlaid shell, and he was positively enthralled. The crude drawings he had seen on it before were not crude at all. They weren't even drawings, and he wondered how he had somehow missed this guitar's utter beauty.

He ran his finger over the woman's face on the back, studying her hair that flowed down like a beautiful, flowing root. She was bending over slightly, her hands lovely and small, each finger perfect and lithe. A naked breast was revealed on one side, a perfectly cut piece of shell displaying the petite nipple. The baroque, heavily detailed leaves showed every single little vein, even the smaller netted ones. Some were bladed, cut small and absolute in their dainty refinement.

Mariku watched Ryou study the guitar. He could tell the whitenette appreciated its beauty, its stunning, wondrous charm. He examined Ryou's expression, analyzing him as he ran his fingers over the woman on the back, as if caught in a trance.

Mariku had found the guitar in a bunk when Otto had first brought him here, dusty and neglected. Otto had a sort of muted displeasure when Mariku had brought it to his attention, as if he had been somewhat attached to it at some point in time, and disliked the boy touching it. He never took it away, however, and never explained its story to him. Otto had shown Mariku the bare minimum basics, how to tune it and how to pluck the strings, and set the strings down before the frets. He left Mariku to dabble with it on his own, telling him to treat it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

And so he had.

Not only was it something dear to Otto, it was something for Mariku to escape into. Something he could play with, to learn from. To let his woes and sorrows pour forth through solid sound, to have his fingers create something beautiful. Something besides screams and desperate pleas telling him to stop, begging him as lives were torn asunder.

Ryou bit his lip, his quiet brilliance understanding the true implications behind this guitar's beauty. Because it wasn't just its physical attraction that cast him under its spell. It was the stories it could tell, and its mindful healing qualities that Mariku had discovered through it.

Ryou smiled at Mariku, carefully setting the guitar down on the table before him.

And Mariku smiled back, a small, wistful grin that held pensive thoughts through somber eyes.

000

"Why don't you make more gloves?"

Mariku looked up to Ryou, giving him an agitated stare, "These are gloves."

"Those are mittens. I mean like, the ones with fingers."

"Those piss me off," he replied, looking back down.

Ryou laughed at him, thinking about it, "Are they harder to make, or do you just not like wearing them?"

Mariku grumbled as a response, and Ryou accepted it for what it was worth. Mariku had become more quiet and agitated, as forlorn as he had been when Ryou first met him. His silent irritation returned tenfold, along with the listless way he moved and fumbled around. He had always seemed to be somewhat depressed, and it had been a slow and agonizing process for Ryou to get him out of it, a little bit at a time. Otto had single-handedly brought him back down into the stagnant misery that he had been festering in for so long, in just a few hours, and Ryou was mad at him for it.

Ryou sighed heavily, mulling everything over. He was excited about leaving in a few days, but at the same time, he felt it was bittersweet. He would be leaving Mariku behind in this desolate cabin, alone to himself once again. Otto had said that Ryou being here had been good, a sort of healing quality that Mariku took a hold of. He knew that once he left, Mariku would probably fall back into his old groove, as if Ryou hadn't even been there. He began to think about leaving to visit his father, and going home, and how he would get back into the basic features of his own life. What he should do about his spirit. If he should even do anything, or if he even had a choice in the matter, as vindictive and forceful the spirit had been most of the time. The thought of the spirit suddenly angered him, and he began to wonder why he was back in the first place, along with the pharaoh and Mariku.

Quietly, tentatively, Ryou asked, "I wanted to ask you...I don't know if you know or not, but...why did you get your bodies back?"

Mariku furrowed his brows, but continued to work, "I only got one body. And I didn't get it 'back'."

"Oh," He replied, realizing he had referred to the pharaoh and his spirit as well. He pondered over Mariku's words, then rephrased, "No, I meant - okay. How did you get a body? Your own body?"

Mariku shrugged, peeved, "I don't know."

Ryou looked down to the mitten that Mariku was fussing over, "How did it happen?"

Mariku slammed the mitten down onto the table, startling Ryou. He looked fearfully into Mariku's raging eyes, regarding him with concerned curiosity. And, like the times before, he broke forth, destroying the brackish walls he had constantly hid behind.

"I DON'T KNOW. It just - after the pharaoh and Malik destroyed me, I was sent into the darkness. The Shadow Realm. I was in darkness. Nothing but harsh, cold, painful darkness. There was no relevance to time, no inkling on...anything. Just the cold, and all the agony. The excruciating, hot agony, stabbing and ripping and tearing me apart over and over again," he stopped, breathing heavily as he stared at the table. He brought a hand to his head, eyes wide as he reminisced, "Then - then I was suddenly standing before Malik, who was just as shocked as I was. He began screaming and throwing things at me, telling me I wasn't real, that I didn't exist, and I - I ran. The end. Okay? That's it. Okay?"

Ryou watched, saddened as Mariku glared back at him, broken. He was a lot more irritable than Ryou thought he was, and he felt remorseful for pushing him. Mariku had put a lot of emphasize on that being the end of the story. But Ryou knew that wasn't the whole of it, and Mariku had stopped himself from telling more. There was still a chunk between this and what Otto had told him. Something major had happened to him in that span of time, something that Mariku had pointedly attempted to leave out. And Otto had hinted towards something awful before. Ryou kept quiet, knowing that delving any further would cause further tension and heartache. He watched as Mariku picked the mitten back up and began working on it, his face inflamed with fury. Ryou wondered if the mitten was just furthering Mariku's blatant anger.

Miffed, Ryou shuffled over to the door, jamming his feet into his boots and throwing a tattered coat upon himself. He took a quick glance at Mariku's back before leaving, watching as the angered boy hunched over his work, bobbing his body as he fumbled with it, mumbling to himself.

The door closed behind him with a loud thud, and the fresh, cold air rushed across him. He stood on the porch a moment, attempting to clear his thoughts as his eyes adjusted to the sudden bright light, then took off down the pathway towards the lake. His breath puffed from his lips in white tendrils, flowing behind him as he drudged down to the lake. He kept his pace slow, his mind in turmoil.

He thought of what Mariku told him. How he had just...suddenly appeared before Malik. As his own spirit did to him. And Mariku had ran. Just as his spirit did. But Ryou hadn't confronted the spirit, hadn't said anything. Malik had been verbally and physically abusive, and he knew Mariku must have felt so lost and confused. Ryou had merely stared at his nude spirit with shocked terror, not entirely sure who he was. He had just - appeared. Right before him, a tall, bronzed man, his muscles well-toned. Turbulent lilac eyes set upon a hard face stared at him with shocked fury, a ragged scar delved deep into his cheek. A mop of white hair lay atop his head, and then - he was gone. Out the door before Ryou could even really register his existence. He had asked himself if it had just been a figment of his imagination, a mirage but - then Yugi had called him moments later to ask him of it, since the pharaoh had appeared before him. It was then, and only then, that his mind clicked into place, and he realized that the devilish entity that had once possessed his body...had come to life in his own, tanned flesh.

Ryou finally reached the lake, and began shuffling over towards the fishing hole. He set himself down on the log, curling up into himself as he stared off into the dark trees, at times letting his eyes scan the broken snow where Otto's plane had landed. He felt as if this whole situation was too complicated, a nasty web full of lies and secrets, a sort of dark mystery that confused him. Not only with Otto and Mariku, but with his spirit. He began to fear the spirit, but on a different level. He feared him for his past of course, for what he had done to Ryou and his friends. He feared him because he was so unpredictable, violent and abusive. But he also feared him because he could be just like Mariku: running away from his past, lost and lonely, set in sorrowful anxiety.

And this made Ryou feel like the lowest person in the world, because it was partially his fault. His fault for not reaching out to the spirit, attempting to find him. To talk to him, to learn more of him, ask him why he did the things that he did. Because everybody said he was as insane and violent in Ancient Egypt as he was in Ryou's body. And there had to be reasoning behind it. Reasoning that was probably infused with abysmal shadow magic and some horrifying incident. An incident that no one would tell him of.

But he knew a certain newly resurrected pharaoh who knew of it, and he'd be damned if he didn't get some answers out of him when he went home.

000

"Can I ask you a question?"

Deep, violet eyes bore into his own, sad and tired, "You just did."

Ryou frowned, his face glowing the the dim lighting of the kerosene lamp. Mariku's hands continued to fiddle with the mitten he had been working on earlier, pulling against the fur and leather.

"No. That wasn't - I'm going to ask you another."

The tanned boy stared listlessly at him, waiting with some sort of poignant frustration.

"You said that you were far away from this cabin when you found me at the plane crash. How did you get me all the way here?"

"I carried you."

"In a sled or something?"

"No."

Ryou stayed silent for a moment, then "The snowmobile?"

"NO. I carried you."

They stared at each other, one in agitation, the other in confused awe. This information slightly embarrassed Ryou, and he wondered how Mariku had managed to carry such dead weight, not to mention that he was wounded and bleeding. "I was injured -"

"I poked a cloth into your wound, wrapped your head, threw you on my back, and carried you here."

Ryou squinted his eyes at him, trying to comprehend his rapid-fire words. "Wrapped my head?"

Mariku shrugged, looking into the flame of the lamp, watching it flicker softly, "Your head was bleeding."

Ryou frowned deeply, his eyes widening. He hadn't known of this, and he reached his hand up to feel around his head, as if expecting some wound to still be there. He slowly remembered that Mariku had said he had been asleep for a week or more, and this began to make sense as to why. He suddenly felt scared and lucky, knowing he could have easily died from his head injury, from a swollen brain or cracked cranium that would become infected. Or maybe he could have been in a coma for much longer a time, or developed amnesia.

Mariku wouldn't tell him that the pilot was still alive when he had arrived, conscious but incoherent in his agony. Mariku also wouldn't tell him that he was forced to kill the pilot, knowing that he would have died from the exposure, or would have bled out before he could have returned. In truth, he knew that he should have taken the pilot first due to his injuries, even though he was nearly certain that he would have died anyways. But once he laid eyes on Ryou, his mind was deadset on forgetting about the pilot. The thought of losing Ryou, a boy he didn't even know personally, irked him. He wasn't entirely sure if it was the spirit, or the host, or maybe someone who just looked like them. But the muted familiarity of him won over, and he ended up snapping the pilot's neck, thinking he would be too cumbersome.

He quickly drug Ryou from the slightly aflame wreckage, examined his wounds and dressed them quickly with materials he had found in the plane. He had carried Ryou upon his back most of the way, tying the boy's hands around his neck as his hands held his legs. At times, he could feel the blood seeping into his coat, freezing and cracking against the fur. His snowshoes sank deep into the snow, and he hobbled slowly back to his cabin, never resting unless he was switching carrying positions, at times throwing him in front, bridal style. It was nearly a 4-hour hike, mainly because of the added weight and awkward footing.

Once at the cabin, Mariku had stripped the boy of his clothes, frozen to him from his own blood, and slumped him across the table. He washed him down quickly, examining all of his wounds and sewing up the worst of them, slathering them with whiskey and beesewax. He had then redressed him, careful of his wounds, and lay him in a bunk, wrapping him in plush blankets and furs, rubbing him down until his skin was red and warm.

And he stared.

He stared and studied that beautiful, pale face, full of stale memories he'd rather forget. He took in the soft cheek bones and jaw, the delicate, refined nose. The low brows, the plump lips. His skin was smooth, devoid of any blemishes. At times he would catch himself tracing the boy's cheeks, his fingers circling along the soft skin. Sometimes he would pet the bottom of his hair, in awe at the unusual color of the strands. And then he would stop, thinking the boy would wake up.

He had returned to the plane a few days later to dig around for anything valuable. His new quarry obviously wasn't going to be waking soon, so he took off into the woods, heading down the same path that was riddled with snowshoe marks. He rummaged around the plane, taking the pilot's gloves, the first aid kits, a few things from the plane itself that hadn't been damaged beyond use and repair. The radio was a smashed nightmare, black and burnt, though he went ahead and took the headset for it. Ryou's duffle bag with the frozen shampoo and conditioner was an afterthought. He left the pilot where he was, blue and frozen, his head laying at an awkward angle.

"So. Hey."

Startled, Mariku looked up to Ryou. He blinked his eyes as the flame's light continued to burn into them, and he looked around the room, trying to dissipate the glow.

"I have another question."

Mariku stared at the side of the stove, blinking,"You talk too much."

Ryou stuck his tongue out, examining Mariku's destitute expression. He had a lot of questions, and pondered over things a lot more than he usually did. He blamed it on the idiom of his acute boredom, and the sudden disturbance that Otto had caused earlier that day. Ignoring Mariku's statement, he asked, "What are you afraid of?"

Mariku's brows furrowed, and he glared over at Ryou, "What?"

"I mean - why did you come here?"

"...what do you mean?" he asked slowly, cocking his head as he squinted.

They had a brief staring contest, neither one of them backing down. Ryou wanted to hear what Mariku's own opinion on everything was, how he felt and thought over his situation, over his life and past. The real reason as to why he came here with Otto. He wanted to hear Mariku say what he had been assuming the entire time. Ryou wanted that answer, but Mariku wasn't giving it. Mariku's stare was intense, a violent haze of lilac, stubborn and fierce. Ryou kept his head high, staring down from his nose, eyes half-lidded, mouth set in a slight frown. He knew that Mariku knew exactly what he was talking about, but was being a bit of a stubborn, cryptic smartass about it.

Eventually, Ryou blinked heavily, rolling his eyes to the ceiling as he sighed, pursing his lips. Feeling defeated, he removed himself from the table. He dive bombed into his bunk, snuggling into it, curling himself around a massive wad of blankets and furs. Mariku stared at him, surprised and confused. He switched his gaze to the table for awhile, mindlessly thumbing the mitten he had accidentally destroyed in his frustration. He sighed, then retreated to his own bunk, carrying the kerosene lamp with him. He set it on the kitchen counter at the end of his bunk, then threw himself into the heaping mass, bundling up beneath the plush materials. He reached out, twisting the knob on the lamp, and the world went dark.

"I have another question."

Mariku slapped his hands against his face, sighing so hard he groaned.

000

Mariku watched as Ryou devoured the last of the fruit Otto had brought. He had been completely merciless in destroying all of it, stuffing his face with the sweet, juicy food. Pears and apples, a few bananas, and a box of strawberries. Mariku had been offered a few strawberries, but that was the end to Ryou's allowance. He didn't dare ask for more, knowing that Ryou would be upset with him, even though he was being greedy. Ryou was extremely irritable when it came to food. Sleep as well, but food was still the main cause of Ryou's festering agitation, a constant wheel that always turned, even when he had just ate.

Ryou sucked on his fingers, licking the juices off, and Mariku studied him. He was a sloppy eater, completely unashamed in his behaviors. Ryou, in Mariku's opinion, was an interesting individual. He was honest, and quiet most of the time. But when he spoke, he often became uncouth and poked and prodded at things that Mariku thought should be left alone. Things that were sensitive to the both of them. But then there might not have been anything to talk about at all. He was almost annoying in his quiet chatter. He was inquisitive and smart, a curious sort that could probably get himself into trouble someday for asking too many questions. He became irritable easily, and lashed out randomly, before falling back down to a soft quietness.

"MMmm! Moose."

Confused, Mariku blinked at Ryou, watching him as his eyes widened. His mouth was still full, his cheeks puffed out. He held his hands by his face, then waved towards the window. Mariku followed the indication, and realized that there was, indeed, a moose outside. It lumbered around in the snow, nibbling on a batch of willow trees and birch branches, pulling and jerking them.

He watched it for a moment, blinking tiredly. Under a different circumstance, he would have gone out and killed it with his bow - but there was still a large amount of caribou meat in one of the sheds, and Ryou would be leaving soon. Ryou, who ate more in one day than Mariku could in three. The boy who had kept him company the past few weeks, even though not all of it was particularly grand. The only individual who had treated him somewhat human, besides Otto. The only real person who he had interacted with during a long term time period, someone who he could talk with, even if the words were slurred and stung his mind.

He watched as Ryou stared at the moose, studying it with lethargic eyes, as if entranced. He had set his hands on the table, occasionally separating his sticky fingers before melding them back together again. Ryou was leaving soon. Very soon. Too soon. Tomorrow. Because of what Otto had told him to do. After tomorrow, he wouldn't wake up to see Ryou in the bunk, still blissfully passed out. He wouldn't sit at the table with him to eat their meal, wouldn't go fishing down on the lake with him anymore. He wouldn't heat up the sauna shed for the both of them, wouldn't be able to use Ryou's lavender shampoo again. He wouldn't hear the boy's laughter reverberate around the cabin, and he wouldn't hear his voice as he asked pointless questions. He wouldn't be able to have the agitating banters with him, nor the random conversations about...nothing. Just empty, pointless words. Ryou would be gone. His body, his soul, his words, his laugh. Everything. Would be gone.

His chest suddenly clenched around itself, and he looked down at the table. Feeling horribly saddened, and confused because of it, he left the table, walking over to his bunk. He ran his fingers over the guitar that was nestled into the top bunk, then grabbed it by the neck, bringing it down with him. He crawled into his own bunk, laying down on his side, back facing the room. He carefully adjusted himself to fit the guitar into his hold, slowly picking at the strings and pulling at the tuners, twisting them until they hit a certain tone he liked. He stared at the wall as he began to play, his fingers dancing across the frets, his mind blank.

Ryou continued to watch the moose, blinking slowly as Mariku began to play a beautiful lament. Snow began to fall outside, the flakes small and wide in their descent to the ground. He sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to his chin to rest his weary head. He wanted to go home, he was so excited about going home. Getting out of here, seeing something different. Feeling, eating, DOING something different than staying in this stale cabin. Talking to other people, with normal speech patterns who didn't have such abysmal strife eating at their souls. And yet - it was bittersweet. He didn't want to leave Mariku. He knew that he would probably never see him again.

000

Morning came too soon for Ryou. Mariku had let him sleep as long as possible, digging out a large metal sled from one of the sheds so he could take all his carvings and furs into town to trade for food and gas. The sun wasn't even up fully when he had slapped Ryou awake, pulling at his blankets and tapping at his cheeks and forehead. He attempted to be soft and tentative about it, not wanting to get kicked and screamed at again. Ryou grumbled in misery, groaning his distaste. He rolled over, snuggling up against the wall, pulling a small fur hide over his head. Mariku slowly pulled the fur from him, letting it slide to the floor.

"Get up."

"NO."

"We're leaving. Get up."

"NO."

"We're going to town. Get up."

"NO."

"There's food on the table. Get up."

"...no."

Mariku sighed heavily, staring at the back of Ryou's head. The boy was impossible, a little nightmare hellbent on getting more sleep. Mariku couldn't let him, the trip to town took almost an entire day, and the added weight on the short-tracked snomobile would cause many problems. He bent down and grabbed ahold of all of the blankets and furs, bundling them up quickly as Ryou let out a throaty, agitated moan. "What're you DOING?" His words were slow and drawled, mind still tired.

Mariku jerked the blankets suddenly, throwing them to the floor. Ryou screamed and curled into himself, shocked with cold. He glared at Mariku, eyes red and bleary. "Noooo," he whined, choking on a mock sob.

Mariku kicked the blankets and furs over to his own bunk, making sure that Ryou wouldn't be able to simply scoop them up off of the floor while still laying down.

"Get up."

"WHY."

"We're leaving."

"WHERE."

"Where what?"

"WHERE ARE WE GOING?"

"To town."

Ryou groaned loudly, blinking heavily as he sniffled in agitation. He began to mumble as he sat himself upright, crossing his legs beneath him. He hummed grumpily, staring at the food sitting on the table, wanting it, but not wanting to leave the still warm bunk. Mariku knew this game, and refused to give Ryou the plate. He needed to get out of the bed in order to further wake himself. Mariku shuffled away slightly, then began to fiddle with a few knobs on the stove, at times glancing over at Ryou. Giving in, Ryou removed himself from his bunk, whining softly as he set himself on the hard, cold stump. He was met with a plate of caribou and scrambled eggs, and a bit of honey drizzled over some half-frozen blueberries. A small cup of tea lay steaming next to it. It was a bland meal he had eaten almost every day. He suddenly craved a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, followed by a long nap.

000

Mariku didn't have a helmet. He had an old pair of goggles, the inside padding dry rotted. He also used a hat, and a piece of fur to wrap around most of his face. He had given Ryou something similar, along with a stained pair of deep purple snowpants that were fraying and falling apart.

"Where did these come from?"

"Shed."

"Those sheds are magical."

Mariku decided not to comment, silently adjusting the strap against Ryou's shoulders. It began to come apart, the material stretching apart. He settled for tying stronger pieces together, then watched as Ryou waddled around. The back sagged considerably, making him look like a fat-bottomed duck, and the front was just as baggy.

"These are too big. I think they belonged to a girl."

Mariku silently smirked, then began adjusting his own snowpants that were in similar condition. They weren't nearly as bulbous in certain areas, and he had pointedly made certain he wouldn't be the one wearing the women's pair. He left the cabin, telling Ryou to pack his bag real quick so it could be tied down with the other things in the sled. Ryou was a tidy person, keeping most of his things in the bag anyway, so he hadn't much to pack. He looked around the cabin silently, taking in the dark walls, the cabinets that formed the kitchen. The wood stove that kept them warm, that was now cold from lack of feeding. The table with the stumps for chairs, with the mindful books Mariku had somehow collected. He looked to the bunks, with the warm, poofy blankets and furs that he had grown fond of. Mariku's bunk was covered with books and knik knaks, his guitar nestled gently in the stop bunk, surrounded by more books and random items.

He heard a few rumbles outside, realizing that Mariku was starting the snowobile. This was it. He was leaving. No more dingy, tiny, suffocating cabin that would forever hold pensive memories for him. His eyes swept the cabin once more, and, seeing the still unopened bottle of absinthe, he shoved it in his bag, wrapping it with layers of clothing so it wouldn't break. He headed for the door and looked around one last time before closing the heavy mass of wood. The thud was loud and absolute, and his chest burned.

000

They got stuck a lot.

The snowmobile was exceptionally old, with small skis to go with a small track. The added weight from Ryou and the sled dragging behind it were the perfect ingredients for disaster. It didn't do well boondocking, or going through deep, soft snow, and often got sucked into the dips by trees, or the back would simply get bogged down. They constantly had to pull and tug on the skis, pushing and pulling to get it unstuck.

It was a long and bumpy ride, with orange markers tied onto trees their only indication of a trail. They crossed several lakes and rivers, frozen over. The lakes provided a smooth ride without any problems, and Ryou would sometimes find himself fading off as he leaned against Mariku's back, the wind flowing against him. But then they would hit a bank on the opposite end of the lake, and Ryou would jump out of his stupor from the sudden jerk.

They would break to relieve themselves, writing yellow words into the snow, stretching their bodies. At Mariku's halfway point - passed a lake, with a pink marker instead of orange -he stopped, turning off the machine to let it cool. The sun was set low in the sky, signifying that it was probably around 3. He removed his goggles and hat, along with the fur scarf, and began digging into a pouch that lay on the back part of the snowmobile's seat. Ryou watched him pull two tins out, revealing pieces of jerky and some boiled eggs. He decided to remove his own goggles and hat as well, along with the makeshift scarf and gloves. The bright snow glared into his eyes, which had previously been shielded by a the slight red tinge of the goggles. He squinted as he took a tin from Mariku, then popped an egg into his mouth.

They had a small lunch, quietly munching as they sat side by side on the snowmobile, looking out at the desolate lake. Mariku had purposely packed more food for Ryou than he had for himself, giving him a few extra eggs and jerky, along with a previously cooked slab of caribou. Ryou hadn't seemed to notice, continuing to stuff his face with the high protein meal. He craved fruit and vegetables, bread and rice. But he really, really wanted a cheeseburger followed by some ice cream and cake.

000

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains by the time they entered the outskirts of the town. Ryou could see the soft glow of orange and yellow lights, an indication of life. He yelled out, pumping his fists into the air, genuinely excited and happy that the long, horrid ride was finally coming to an end. Mariku slowed the pace of the snowmobile, coming off of the soft snow and hitting a curving, smooth road. Eventually, he pulled up to a small building before slapping the button down, killing off the rumbling engine.

He removed himself from the snowmobile, stretching languidly and removing the goggles and makeshift scarf. Ryou followed suit, grunting as he moved around. Ryou's butt was numb, and his legs felt wobbly. Mariku began walking up to the door when it opened, revealing an old woman with a hard face. Her gray hair was tied back, frizzy and gnarled. She wore a thick long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dingy sweat pants.

"Hey, there. Otto said you were stopping by soon," her voice was just as rugged as her appearance, and she sounded somewhat agitated.

Mariku half-nodded, then looked back to Ryou.

The woman peeked over to him, and he waved a soft hello as he began to remove his facial gear. She nodded in return, the told them to come inside to warm up. She cursed at someone, and Ryou was nearly knocked down by a large man jumping out of the door.

"Not the blue bag," Mariku hissed out after him.

"Yeah, yeah. Figured it wasn't yours anyways," the man called back.

Ryou raised his brows at this quick exchange, then followed Mariku into the small building. It was warm, and the heat rushed across him in a large wave. It was a small home, heated with a wood stove sitting over in a corner. It was small but cozy, with a ladder leading up into a hidden loft. A couch was set to one side, with a TV sitting in front of it. A kitchen lay beside the stove, complete with a refrigerator, and Ryou forced himself not to go and dig through it.

"Well? Sit the fuck down, you shits," the woman stated, indicating the table in the kitchen. She placed two cups of steaming coffee on the table, then walked over to the door to watch the man unload Mariku's sled. Ryou furrowed his brows and frowned, disbelieving this rude and odd behavior. He did as he was commanded, however, setting down in a hard wooden chair over in the kitchen. Mariku continued to stand, leaning against a kitchen counter as he sipped on his coffee. Ryou did so as well, and the hot drink burned his lips.

Hearing shuffling, Ryou looked over to the door, watching as the man walked in with a few bags that held Mariku's fur items and carvings. The woman and man began removing the items, placing them on the floor in front of the couch, turning them over and looking at them. Ryou watched the man, realizing he was much younger than the woman. His hair was stark black, and a slight beard kissed his hard face. Ryou thought maybe he was the woman's son, or some friend or other relative.

The woman began walking over to them, leaving the man to dig around in the bags. She set her hands on her hips, nibbling on her tongue between thin lips, "How's the old homestead doin'?"

"Good," Mariku mumbled, staring at the floor as he continued to sip at his coffee.

"Yeah?" she prodded.

Mariku nodded in return, refusing a verbal answer.

"You got lots of shit this time. Good pelts, too. One hundred in green and five hundred in credit."

Mariku continued to stare at the floor, as if pondering, then, "One-fifty."

"Mmmm...yeah, fine, whatever. Let me go get your green, then you get right on the fuck out of here and get your asses to the motel. Jack's been closing it up earlier lately."

The curt lady disappeared up into the loft, then reappeared holding a small bag. She handed it to Mariku, who quickly pocketed it and set his half-empty mug on the kitchen counter. He slapped Ryou's shoulder, pulling at his jacket, indicating it was time to leave. Ryou rose, leaving his coffee behind, saying a small thank you before following Mariku out the door. He was somewhat confused and uncomfortable, developing a feeling of foreign worth. He didn't really know what was happening, and all he could do was take in what he could. Just go with the flow.

They didn't don their goggles or scarves, as the trip was a relatively short one. They stopped quickly at a small, mocha-shop styled building, and Mariku ordered a hot dog while Ryou nearly had a heart attack at the list of things he could possibly get. The menu was miniscule, but even so, it was a godsend. He wanted all of it, but settled for a bowl of onion rings and nachos doused with cheese and beans, with a small vanilla ice cream bowl. Ryou was in absolute rapture, his taste buds dancing as he devoured his food.

They ate quickly in the cold, then took off back down the beaten road. Mariku pulled to the side of a large, 2-storied building that reminded Ryou of an old saloon. The outside wood was gray and rotten, a neon, "Motel" sign unlit and broken in places. Mariku grabbed Ryou's bag from the sled, then walked across the large, country porch and opened the door.

The inside was dark, and the floor was incredibly filthy, an ugly shag carpet worn and in desperate need of cleaning. It stank like cigarettes and some sort of rotten, festering odor Ryou couldn't quite place. Ryou followed Mariku over to the counter, looking around. A few worn out couches curled around a TV, and multiple furs and antiques hung across the dark walls. Ryou curled his lips, worried and disgusted. Mariku rang a bell that resided on the counter, and an old, grumpy looking man popped out of a hidden room, regarding them with agitation.

"Oh. It's you. 30 bucks."

Mariku looked to Ryou, then back to the man, raising his brows.

The man took a quick glance at Ryou, silently understanding, "Just sleep on the floor."

Mariku shook his head, then slapped 50 dollars upon the counter, demanding.

The little man glared at him, huffing "We don't have any rooms with two beds. I can give you the king suite?"

At this, Mariku nodded, taking the key that was handed to him. Mariku began walking towards the stairs at the far end of the large room, before a familiar voice shot out at them.

"HEY-YO! Glad to see you could make it."

Otto came shuffling out from another room, his eyes beaming. Smoke followed him in tendrils, curling off of him, though he wasn't smoking. It puffed out as a door closed behind him, encasing him in a smokey cocoon before dissipating into the air. Mariku stared at him, eyes half-lidded, frowning slightly. Ryou greeted him with a soft hello, and Otto slapped him across the back before doing the same to Mariku.

"You go to your room, I gotta talk to your boyfriend," he stated playfully to the Egyptian. He slapped at Mariku's shoulder again, then pushed him towards the stairs. Mariku looked from Ryou back to Otto, frowning heavily before doing as he was told. Ryou watched him disappear upstairs, then looked over to Otto, confused. Otto was staring hard at him, his head lowered.

"You okay?"

Ryou nodded in response, understanding his meaning, "Yeah."

Otto looked to the floor, his tongue darting across his lips, flicking across his gnarled mustache, "Good."

"I'm not his boyfriend," Ryou shot out suddenly, agitated.

Otto laughed at him, "I'm just fuckin' with you, no harm done. Calm your tits."

Ryou's lips tightened. He was still upset with Otto for rewrapping Mariku - destroying the work that Ryou had put into him unraveling him. To open him, to reveal his real personality. "What...what, um. What did you want me for? I mean - I'm kinda tired."

Otto shrugged, setting his lips in a mock pout, "Just making sure you're alright, kiddo. Also to give you heads up. Got intel on your dad's location. He left about a week ago, back to Egypt, so I've been told. Seems we all have a lot more in common than I thought, eh?" he winked.

Ryou's shoulders slackened, his heart feeling as if it had suddenly shattered, "Oh..."

Otto noticed Ryou's despairing expression, and decided to keep moving on with the conversation quickly, "I'm going to personally drive you out, when you're ready. We're still in a pretty isolated area. Get you to a clinic real quick and go from there. I suppose you want to go home by now, huh?"

Ryou nodded mutely, depression overtaking him. His father had left him. Left him. Before he even knew if he was alright, if he was even alive. He didn't even wait. He wondered if his father had even cared to add to the search effort for the pilot and himself. His job could not possibly be more important than the critical welfare of his own flesh and blood. Of his own son.

Ryou looked to Otto, tears stinging the corner of his eyes, "Was there anything else?"

Otto regarded him thoughtfully, studying him, as if mulling something over in his head, "No."

Ryou knew he was lying, but didn't pry, "I want to go home tomorrow. Can I go home tomorrow?"

Otto nodded softly, "Sure, kid. I'll be loping around somewhere, just come find me. Maybe in the titty bar next door," he winked.

Ryou nodded, blinking tiredly and turned away from Otto, leaving him alone in the middle of the dim room. His mind was numb, thoughts jumbling, and he climbed the stairs with the dingy carpet, unwilling to grasp the filthy railing. He made his way to the top of the stairs, eyeing the numbers on the doors in the dim lighting. Some of the lights blinked, while others were out completely, casting some areas in darkness. There were only three rooms on the top floor, his and Mariku's being in the middle. One of the doors appeared to have bullet holes in it, and this worried him immensely.

Walking towards his room, he tested the knob, making sure it wasn't locked, then slowly opened it. It stuck slightly to his hand, and he wiped his hand against his pantlegs in agitation. The room was small, with a single king sized bed, and a nightstand to one side. A small table with a single fold-up chair lay opposite of it against the wall, a small doorless entryway leading to a tiny bathroom that he'd rather not use. The room smelled of mildew and mold, and he grimaced, thinking he'd probably be safer sleeping outside. The floor was a continuation of the dingy carpet that resided throughout the rest of the building, and Ryou wondered if the bed was just a filthy. He briefly wondered why Mariku didn't just get separate rooms for the both of them, but maybe they would have been too expensive.

He spotted Mariku, staring out at the beautiful scenery through a large window. His back was facing him, hands on his hips. His form was outlined by the massive, blue and white mountains that dove down into a canyon, a frozen river running at the base, glowing in the light of the moon. It was then that Ryou realized they were at the edge of a cliff, making the most of the gorgeous view.

"Hey," Ryou started, closing the door. He eyed his duffle that was on the table, "Um. Otto says he can drive me out tomorrow sometime. My dad's already back in Egypt, so..." he trailed off, upset, "I'll be flying back to Japan."

Ryou watched as Mariku's shoulders slackened, his arms falling to his sides, limp and lifeless. He turned around, sharp on his heels, and Ryou's breath hitched.

Mariku's face was the epitome of sadness, his eyes glassy and full of sorrow, dark and desolate. His lips shook, and Ryou stared at him, feeling upset with himself, though he was certain he hadn't done much of anything to cause Mariku's current mood. Suddenly, quickly, Mariku was upon him, grabbing the sides of his face. He stepped back almost in reflex, startled, but the hands against his cheeks kept him in place. And then, full, plump lips were upon his own, chapped and warm. Filled with shock, Ryou's eyes widened, and his body went rigid. He held his hands up by his shoulders, fingers twitching. Mariku pulled away from him, still holding the sides of his face, refusing to let go. His eyes were shut tight, brows furrowed, and he let out a choked sob before opening those forlorn, turbulent violet orbs.

"I don't...I don't want you to leave."

Ryou melted into himself, his eyes watering in realization. He honestly didn't know what to say, didn't know how to react. Mariku had always been relatively hard to read, and even harder to get him to show his true feelings. But this - this was sudden, and Ryou was so...unprepared. Especially since his own mental fortitude had been knocked down by the revelation of his father's blatant thoughtlessness and heartless abandonment.

"I...I can't stay here, Mariku," he whispered.

Feeling unwanted and lost, Mariku stepped away, releasing his gentle hold on Ryou's face. Awkwardly, Ryou fidgeted, then watched as Mariku paced the room, sniffling and upset. He began pulling at his hair, then walked over to the window, leaning against it, staring out at the mountains. Ryou stared at his back, studying the tips of the carved wings that were poking out the sides of his wife beater. If his guitar was here, Ryou knew that he would be playing it at his very moment. Ryou blinked a few times, then tip-toed forward, heart beating loudly in his ears, his stomach tingling.

Stepping close, he pulled at Mariku's shoulder, uncertain of what he should really do, feeling stupid and worried. Mariku pulled away from him, jerking his body as he put his head against the window with a loud thudding noise that echoed softly. Miffed, Ryou stepped to the side, and pulled Mariku's hair, forcing Mariku's head away from the window. He shot out his hands and placed them upon Mariku's jaw, jerking it to the side, and gave him a hard, sloppy kiss right back, almost as a sort of apology. It took a brief moment for Mariku to react, but then he returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around Ryou's middle.

He pushed Ryou over to the wall by the window, their feet shuffling across the floor. Ryou stared into those scorching violet eyes, scared and confused, though unwilling to fight back. Mariku began running his hands through the white hair, tangling his fingers, twisting and stroking. He pulled Ryou's hair, forcing his head back so he could kiss his throat, trailing from his collarbone up to his temple, making lush smacking noises. His other hand grazed up Ryou's inner thigh, rubbing at his crotch through the thick jeans. Ryou gasped in response, letting out a short moan as he grasped at the front of Mariku's shirt in surprise.

Ryou hadn't expected this. He hadn't expected for Mariku to be so...so confident, so forceful, so sure of himself in this situation. He had always seemed so quiet and reserved, and this sudden portrayal of pure confidence made Ryou a bit scared, as it reminded him of when he had butchered the caribou, with a sense of indifference. A sort of smooth boldness, as if he had done it all before. It also reminded him of the harsh stories he had been told about Mariku, about the dark, horrid side of him that was utterly ruthless and violent with a striking certainty that could make your blood run cold.

He also hadn't expected Mariku to be...well, gay. Or maybe he wasn't gay, maybe he just liked Ryou more than the conventional person did. Maybe he didn't even care about the social hierarchy, or how things worked or - or whatever. Or maybe he just wanted Ryou's company. He wasn't sure - Mariku was strange like that. Ryou didn't even know if he, himself was gay. He had never shown any sort of interest in either sex, and often thought himself as asexual. This might change things. He wasn't entirely sure if he was liking this situation or not, even though he, himself, had initially sparked it.

Even if it was just a sympathetic impulse.

Still in a state of shock, Ryou could only moan against Mariku, his face getting hot from the direct contact he was receiving. Mariku was so warm against him, his lips hot and moist on his unyielding flesh. Mariku's hands kept rubbing, stroking, kneading into him, and all the touching felt so good. Abruptly, his shirt was ripped away from him, cast to the floor. He held his hands to his chest, body shaking, refusing to look into Mariku's face out of embarrassment The tanned boy kept fondling him, raking his nails across his naked back and chest, continuing to kiss him. His hands stroked him, swirling across the porcelain, creamy skin, and Ryou simply stood there, lost in a hazy sense of shock. Mariku lowered himself, taking a pink, erect nipple into his mouth.

Ryou gasped loudly, a moan stuck in his throat. He arched forward and brought his hands to the tips of Mariku's hair, gently holding onto the sandy locks. Mariku continued to caress him, kissing his chest and darting out his tongue for quick licks, nibbling gently with his teeth. Ryou suddenly felt hands against his crotch, pulling at the button and zipper, and a wave of realization hit him. He mumbled softly, releasing Mariku's hair as he stared down, bashful and uncertain. Mariku gazed up at him, unblinking, slowly pulling Ryou's pants down over his hips. His boxers followed right after, and he was left naked in the cold, his pants and underwear wrapped around his ankles.

Ryou looked away, shameful and embarrassed, but didn't pull away. His entire body trembled, but he told himself it was from the cold, and not from what was happening. Mariku began kissing him again, rising to peck at his cheeks and jaw. He kept his hands at Ryou's hips, his thumbs swirling little circles against the soft skin, and Ryou tentatively placed his hands against Mariku's arms. Mariku began to lower himself, kissing Ryou's neck and collarbone, down his chest to his navel. He pulled at the bottom flesh of the navel softly, then lowered himself even more to kiss the boy's hip bones, careful of Ryou's still healing wound. The small white tuffs from his modest treasure trail tickled Mariku's cheek, and he dropped to his knees, releasing Ryou's hips.

Ryou watched, disbelieving, as Mariku abruptly took his limp member into his hot, wet mouth. Ryou's eyes widened as he squealed, his body shuddering. His legs quivered as he stretched his arms across the wall, attempting to balance himself. _Oh, God_, he thought. This was fast - it was happening so fast. This was not what he expected to happen, and this was not really what he wanted from Mariku in any sense but - but it felt so good, and he didn't want it to stop. He moaned heartily, staring down at Mariku's face, those beautiful, violet orbs staring back into his own. He shuddered again, watching as Mariku bobbed his head, sucking and licking, swirling his tongue along the swelling head, lips bobbing along the sensitive flesh just underneath. One of the tanned boy's hands lay at the base of his cock, the other stroking his belly and chest, delving into his navel and pinching at his nipples.

Ryou found it hard to breathe, little whimpers escaping his mouth as he jerked his hips forward, almost in a state of animalistic need. Mariku laughed around his manhood, the vibrations sending shockwaves down to the base. Ryou whined, continuing to watch Mariku, noticing how long his tongue was. It curled around his shaft, licking from the base to the tip, swirling into the slit on the head. Ryou's body jerked, and Mariku released him, his lips leaving his throbbing pink cock with a loud pop. Mariku flicked the tip as an afterthought, watching it bob. He thought it mildly amusing that Ryou had gotten so hard so quick, though he wouldn't chastise him over it.

Flustered and hot, Ryou quivered, bracing himself for when Mariku pushed himself upon him again, giving him kisses all over. His cock twitched for contact, attempting to rub up against Mariku's thighs. Ryou hissed as Mariku nibbled his earlobe, and watched as he removed his own shirt. His beautiful, bronze chest rubbed against Ryou's, the friction hot and prurient. Ryou's breath hitched as Mariku began nudging him over to the bed, and he stumbled out of the pants that were around his ankles, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Mariku pushed him, slamming him down on the hard, springy mattress, causing it to squeak softly. Ryou smelled mildew from the pillows, but he didn't care. Mariku pounced on him, continuing to kiss and suckle on his flush skin, biting gingerly. Ryou began to rake his hands against Mariku's arms, pulling at the back of his neck and head, pointedly leaving his scarred back untouched. Mariku fumbled with his own pants, quick and feverish, panting heavily. They were removed halfway, and he began pumping his half-erect member, pulling and tugging at the tip as he bent back over Ryou. Ryou pulled him down for a tentative kiss to the lips, and he tasted the salt from his own member. Mariku deepened the kiss, delving his tongue into Ryou's own. They bit and suckled, tongues lolling, and they only broke away from each other for quick breaths.

One of Mariku's hands began grazing down Ryou's stomach to his groin. He pumped the twitching cock, and Ryou gasped as a finger rubbed the tip, swirling into the slit. He squealed softly, feeling the finger slowly descend down his shaft, circle his balls, then prod at his sensitive, puckered hole. He sobered suddenly, pulling away from Mariku and stared into his face, apprehensive. He felt vulnerable and meek, his meager confidence wavering.

"I'm - I don't -"

Mariku kissed him softly on the lips, "Shhhh, sh-shhh," he cooed, then slowly, gently sent his finger forth. Ryou tensed at the intrusion, the sensation awkward and foreign. Mariku swirled his finger inside him, moving it around and jerking it, gently pulling it in and out. Ryou curled his toes, holding onto Mariku's shoulders as he continued to stare into his face. His violet eyes were glazed over, half-lidded and lusty, his breath hot and heavy. Mariku continued to pump himself, his body bobbing with his feverish pulling, going with the rhythm of his finger that was inside Ryou. Another finger was soon added, and Ryou clenched, biting his bottom lip. At first he pulled them in and out in unison, then began scissoring them, twisting them around. Soon, a third finger was added, and Ryou mumbled in displeasure. It stung slightly, and the odd feeling continued to grow as Mariku moved them in and out, at times bending his knuckles to gently scrape the warm insides. Eventually, Mariku pulled his fingers out, then set his hand to work on Ryou's twitching girth. Ryou moaned softly, digging his nails into Mariku's arms as he bucked his hips.

Ryou shook as Mariku leaned away from him, digging around in the small nightstand by their bed. He heard clatters and shuffling of small items, and wondered why there would be a bunch of junk inside of a motel drawer - but then the thought that the concept really matched the whole vibe of their room.

His breath shuddered as Mariku returned to him, leaning down to rub his chest against his own. Their chests rose into each other, pushing with heavy breaths and panting. Ryou's cock rubbed against Mariku's belly, squished between the warm flesh. Mariku sucked on Ryou's bottom lip, at times tracing down to his chin. He heard a sharp popping noise, and soon felt something cold and wet press against his entrance, and his legs shuddered. The fingers returned, though cold and wet. They prodded his insides, this time moving languidly and easily through him, pulling in and out. He dully realized that Mariku had found some sort of lube in the drawer, and this somewhat disgusted him.

Mariku's fingers left him again, and he leaned back, quickly removing his pants the rest of the way and throwing them against the window. He stared down into Ryou's flushed face. His features were a bright scarlet, the hard blush flowing down his neck and blossoming across his pale chest, reaching to the tips of his shoulders. Mariku smirked down at him, pouring the bottle of lube onto his own cock and slathering it across his member with slow strokes. Ryou trembled beneath him, panting heavily as he glanced down at Mariku's thick, hard manhood. It was bigger than his own, a thick, throbbing copper toned thing that bobbed gently at Mariku's ministrations. He suddenly felt scared, and butterflies fluttered inside his belly, rising up into his chest. There was no way that could possibly fit inside of him - and he didn't know why - this wasn't what he had wanted - and - and this was so stupid.

He squealed softly, his face setting in horror. He felt small and weak, and horribly embarrassed. How did this even happen, how did it even get to this point? All he did was give Mariku a quick kiss as an apology and then - and then Mariku surprised him. Surprised him with a new side that he hadn't seen before, and this situation began to terrify him. He began to feel that this was going too far, that he should just stop this right now. But then he felt Mariku pull at his legs, setting them to each side of his hips, then push forward. Ryou covered his face as Mariku's cock pushed at his entrance, slowly bobbing it to get the tight hole open, one hand guiding it as the other held onto Ryou's hip for leverage. Eventually, the head broke past the ring, and Ryou hissed behind his hands. His breath came in ragged gasps as Mariku continued to slowly but surely push himself forward, deeper into Ryou.

"Ah-AH!" Ryou's body went rigid, legs shuddering as he attempted to close them shut, but were hindered by Mariku's body. Instead, he wrapped them around Mariku's back, tightly pressing them against him. He pulled at his bangs, fingers curling against his forehead. His body arched, chest rising as his nipples stood rigid, his shoulder blades the base of his grounding. Mariku rocked his hips, slowly inching himself in and out until he was balls deep, the base of his shaft invisible beneath the tuffs of blonde pubes.

Ryou felt tears sting the corner of his eyes, but he kept his hands over his face, unwilling to look up at Mariku to show him his discomfort and embarrassment. His face was set in a grimace, eyes shut tight in pain. A stinging hellfire raged between his legs and inside him. It hurt - it hurt more then he thought it would. His entrance hurt, and his insides hurt, stretched wide from the pure girth of Mariku's cock. It was big - it was too big and he wanted this to stop, wanted the pain to go away, wanted to take back the kiss. He wished he was back in the cabin, away from this nasty motel that reeked of mildew, away from the pain. He began breathing heavily, attempting to calm himself, though his breaths came out ragged and harsh. He wanted this to stop, but at the same time, he knew they had already gone too far. He felt Mariku shudder above him, letting out a brief mumble. He was in absolute euphoria. Ryou was incomprehensibly tight - the warm walls closing in on his girth, wrapping around and constricting him.

Mindfully, he poured a few more dabs of lube along the base of his cock set at Ryou's entrance, then began rocking his hips, slow and gentle. He pulled at Ryou's hands, wanting to see his face. Anguished, Ryou began to cry, letting Mariku pull his hands away. He clenched the blanket beneath them, eyes still shut tight as he silently sobbed. Mariku leaned down to kiss his tears away, whispering sweet nothings in his ear, trying to calm him down. Seeing him upset and in pain made Mariku feel guilty, and he wondered if he should even be doing this - but then he told himself that Ryou had never told him to stop, and he knew that Ryou would have if he really wanted to. And so he wouldn't stop. Not yet. Ryou's muscles started to relax, and Mariku's gentle rocking soon became soft thrusts, slowly widening Ryou's passage. Ryou moaned beneath him in pain, then choked on his own moans when Mariku brushed against something deep inside him.

He felt a shockwave of nerves fray out beneath his cock, pulsating every time the spot was hit, sending raw pleasure throughout his groin. He moaned throatily, fists pulling at the sheets and pillows. Mariku hit it again before his member curled deeper into him, and the mind-numbing mixture of pleasure and pain sent his mind into overload. He wanted more, needed more, and he bucked up into Mariku's next thrust.

Mariku let out a breathless laugh, then leaned away from him, grasping an ankle as he began to ram into him with hard, quick thrusts. His other hand lay on Ryou's cock, pumping it with the quick rhythm. Ryou grunted and moaned beneath him, lost in a sea of intoxicating bliss. The tears stopped flowing, and his face itched, but he didn't even register it. His entire groin and lower belly was set in absolute rapture, and the small of his back tingled with pinpricks of pain, sending his nerves into confused affliction. His thoughts jumbled together, and all he cared about was the extraordinary, stupefying sensation he was experiencing.

Mariku began to push into him with such fervor that the bed squeaked and bobbed, and Ryou's moans grew louder. Mariku grabbed onto Ryou's shoulders, ramming into him as he hissed between his teeth. He focused his gaze onto Ryou's face. His almond colored eyes were unfocused and half-lidded, staring up at the ceiling, his pale lashes fluttering. His plump lips were wet, mouth open to emit throaty moans behind a pink tongue. His once pale skin was a healthy rose color, and his white hair fell around him in a messy, beaming halo, contrasting with his flushed skin. He studied the boy's euphoric expression with a sense of pride and satisfaction, and he felt his own face split into a sort of domineering sneer.

Suddenly, Mariku pulled away from Ryou, flipping him over onto his chest with such ferocity that it pushed the air out of Ryou's lungs. His buttocks was thrust up in the air in need. Mariku pounced on him quickly again, ramming his cock back into Ryou, and began to assault the pale boy's entrance. Completely immobile beneath Mariku's weight, all he could do was moan, biting a pillow and pulling at the sheets. His cock lay squished between the bed and his belly, and the fast, hard rocking gave it mild friction against the bed.

Mariku grunted above him, rocking his hips and swirling them before jamming his cock in and out, fast and hard. Their skin slapped loudly, the sound recoiling back around the room, unable to catch up with itself. Mariku snarled and hissed, pulling and squeezing Ryou's hips and shoulders, clawing at his skin. Mariku ruthlessly pounded into Ryou, raw and animalistic as he continued to thrust in and out at an unimaginably fast pace. Ryou squealed beneath him, loud and throaty, desperate for more, though in the back of his mind, he knew that there wasn't much more Mariku could give him.

Mariku's chest was suddenly on his back, hot and sweaty, and he felt breath on the back of his ear. He heard nasty things whispered to him, at times teeth grazed the tip of his ear and bit at his neck and shoulders. Mariku stirred his insides, rocking his hips into him, swaying and jerking. Ryou reached out his arms awkwardly, brushing his fingers against Mariku's thighs in mediocre encouragement, continuing to grunt beneath him.

Again, Mariku pulled out of him, then flipped himself towards the headboard of the bed, sitting down. He dragged Ryou up with him, pulling at his hips. Ryou shuffled to him, feeling empty and needy, simply wanting more. Mariku abruptly slammed Ryou against his body, their chests and bellies sliding against each other from the hot sweat. He pushed him down onto his cock, letting Ryou ride him, though he himself bucked up into him faster than Ryou could even register. Mariku's strong arms enveloped Ryou, his hands squeezing and slapping at his rippling buttocks. Ryou wrapped his arms around Mariku's neck, his forehead meeting Mariku's as they stared into each other's lust-ridden eyes. Ryou began rocking feverishly, moaning as Mariku began to kiss his chest, his lips pointedly dotting the five, perfectly aligned scars across his pale flesh.

Ryou leaned away to look down to Mariku's bellybutton, continuing to rock himself into the tanned boy. He furrowed his brows, panting heavily as he stuck his thumb in the bellybutton, the rest of his hand curling around Mariku's toned belly. Mariku squinted his eyes at him, uncertain and confused with this action, though it didn't bother him. Ryou grunted and moaned, the tip of his fingernail gently scraping the the inside of Mariku's navel with every movement of his body. Seemingly satisfied with some sort of small revelation, Ryou removed his thumb, re wrapping his arms around Mariku's neck, pulling him close against his chest as he panted against his forehead.

Their minds were completely wayward, cast away in a wave of sheer euphoria. Their hot, sweaty bodies rocked into each other, hands rolling and groping, their chests heaving. Their breath was hot, eyes watering in some sort of destitute frustration. They felt as if they couldn't get enough, could never get enough - and they continued to meld into each other, rubbing and bobbing with every harsh thrust. They moaned heavily, guttural and loud, raspy with a sort of breathless affliction. They wanted this - both of them wanted this, needed this, to promote a feeling of self-worth, to hide their mental vulnerabilities - though they wouldn't be able to connect to this in their current state. It was an astounding feeling - to utterly lose the world around them, when the only thing that mattered was each other and the exaltation that they provided to each other.

Mariku continued to ram into him with such ferocity that Ryou found it hard to gain any leverage against the onslaught. One of Mariku's hands moved to continually pump him, pulling at his head and the sensitive skin just beneath. A knot began to curl into the pit of his belly as that sweet spot was continually hit deep inside him. His breathing became hard and ragged, and his toes began to tingle. A shock of shivers ran across his skin, and he curled his toes in response. His entire body was lit afire with burning tingles, nerves pulsating and tightening across his arms, face, legs and stomach. His legs stiffened, muscles tensing as his cock became the hardest he felt it could become. He felt the hot, warm fluids begin to course up through his shaft, flowing like a river as Mariku continued to pump him. Unashamed, he slapped Mariku's hand away, then pumped himself quickly, moaning and gasping loudly as his orgasm took over his entire body. He felt light headed, his focus diminished and hearing practically gone. His sight blurred as he came, each spurt sending a new coarse of pleasure across his groin, and he moaned in absolute ecstasy as his body convulsed. He jerked his hips forward as Mariku slowed his pace, watching as Ryou came upon his stomach and chest, his white, milky seed blotting Mariku's dark skin.

Ryou continued to slowly pump himself, the pleasure slowly waning down, and Mariku picked up his gait again, continuing his previous onslaught. Ryou's insides twinged and pulsated around his cock from his own orgasm, tightening around him, and sending him over the edge. He bit Ryou's collarbone, wrapping his arms around him as he pushed forward, slamming him down onto his back, and rammed into him with barbaric brutality. Ryou squealed, then dug his fingernails into Mariku's back, his hands roaming across the bumpy, scarred flesh.

Mariku's breathing became heavier at the touching on his sensitive skin, and his body suddenly jerked, breathless moans emitting from his throat. Ryou felt something hot flow inside him, and Mariku continued to thrust into him, slowly riding out his orgasm. Eventually, he stopped moving, and simply held Ryou in his arms, Ryou's seed smearing across both of their chests and bellies. They panted heavily, minds suddenly clear, yet their bodies tired. Mariku leaned back slightly, kissing Ryou's scars on his chest, then moving to the one on his upper arm. He gently retrieved Ryou's limp left hand, and began kissing the star-shaped scar that resided upon it as well.

Ryou stared at the ceiling, attempting to come down from his extraordinary high, dully registering Mariku's soft ministrations. The paint was peeling from the ceiling, with watery yellow rings indicating a previous leak, and he blinked tiredly at them. The kissing on his hand continued, and he looked lethargically at Mariku, realizing that he was crying. Ryou regarded him with exhausted curiosity, his chest suddenly alight with a cold fire, though he made no effort to console the tanned boy. Mariku put Ryou's scarred hand to his wet cheek, then held it tightly as he leaned down upon him, letting his member shrink inside of the whitenette before it slipped out on its own. Mariku lay still on top of Ryou, moving his thumb along the boy's hand in small circles, rubbing at the scar. His face lay sideways, facing towards the window, his cheek resting upon Ryou's collarbone.

Ryou could feel Mariku's sticky tears smear across his chest, and he brought his other hand to pull through his ashy strands of hair, petting him softly in confused empathy. At times his fingers would run across something hard, surrounded by smaller soft strands, and he pulled at them softly, realizing they were small feathers, tied directly into Mariku's hair with tiny beads. He scanned them slowly, running his fingers along their spines and fraying the vanes, and he wondered how long they had been there, hidden deep in Mariku's unruly locks. His lids felt droopy, and he shut his eyes, continuing his slow strokes upon Mariku's scalp, seeking out new feathers, but found none. At some point, he had stopped, his hold on reality leaving him as the dim obscurity of sleep lulled him. And he drifted, softly, quickly, into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, Mariku was gone.

000

Ryou, you're such a virgin, gaw.

So. I don't usually like posting lemons because I think they're no good. Even though they're the basis of what I usually write. BECAUSE I'M APPARENTLY A HUGE PERVERT. But then, I don't think much of my writing is any good. I read over things and still feel dissatisfied, like it's a draft, even though I know there isn't anything else I can do with it.

And bur hur dur.

Fuck.

So, hearing all your awesome reviews makes me feel better about shit and stuff.

And junk like that.

It's one of the main reasons I've even continued writing this, and all your feedback is just - guh. Overwhelming and humbling.

Anyway.

Kthxbai

FOR NOW. BAHAHAAHAHfj;dlajkdla; gemshipping and rustshipping is in the future. If you don't like it, that's okay. You don't have to read this anymore if you don't want. Because the magical cabin setting is gone. At this point, I'm kind of writing it for myself, because...because I need to. Because the world always needs more gemshipping and rustshipping. But especially rustshipping.

Because there's like. None out there. And that's just wrong.


	7. Chapter 7

Mmmmmm...this chapter is boring and lame. You can probably tell. Because it took me so long to write and is boring and stupid and derp. I was thinking about putting this whole thing on hiatus, almost. But - bah. Whatever. This works. But not really. I hate this chapter.

I should just say "Here, have some crybaby boys with first world problems."

Boo.

000

Mariku had lay upon Ryou for a long time, listening to his beating heartbeat and feeling the subtle rise and fall of his chest. The steady thumping slowed down to a soft rhythm, the thud faint and soft. The gentle fingers curling through his hair offered him comfort, along with the warmth the body beneath him provided. He felt a sense of peace, his mind mellowing as his thoughts broke into nothing. Eventually the soft petting stopped, and the pale, dainty fingers lay softly against his scalp. Ryou's breathing deepened, and Mariku moved his head to stare up at the boy, whom was lost in slumber, his eyes shut gently.

Mariku blinked tiredly, his own body pulling at him, attempting to get him to sleep as well. But his mind wouldn't let him. He had sobered after Ryou's gentle petting had stopped, and he fully realized what had transpired. His mind flooded quickly, full of conflicting thoughts and feelings that confused him. They angered him. Made him sad. His chest hurt considerably, constricting and pulsating, and a giant lump had welled up into his throat. His eyes stung from his dried tears, and he was upset with himself. Upset that he didn't understand.

He hadn't anything to go to, no one to talk to, to help him. Even if Ryou was awake, he doubted that he would even try to speak with him. There wasn't much he could say, considering. He was just too confused, and he felt as though his words would come out jumbled and incomprehensible, just as his thoughts were in his mind.

He wanted his guitar.

He slowly, languidly removed himself from the warmth beneath him, leaving Ryou. The pale hand upon his head fell gently to the bed, and Mariku tugged the boy's fingers for a moment, thumb swirling across the flushed knuckles. He received no reaction from Ryou, who was completely oblivious to the world outside of his sleep. Mariku swiveled suddenly, dangling his legs over the side of the bed as he set his hands to his face, contemplating. He rubbed at his eyes, wiping his wet lashes across the corners.

He removed himself from the bed, then wandered around the room for a time, strutting around nude, his feet scraping against the filthy carpet. He rubbed at his face in agitation, gnawing on his tongue between sharp teeth, and pinching at his belly. He pulled at his earlobes and hair, twirling his fingers in the wispy locks. At times he would lean against the window, the cold, smooth texture shocking his warm skin, but it would warm up and he would leave it to wander in a wayward state. He was frustrated.

He glanced over to Ryou. Sweet, slumbering Ryou, with red scratch marks riddling his pale skin. His blush had settled considerably, now a dull pink that was barely visible in the dim light. His hair flayed across the pillows and clung to his face, messy and thick. His body was angled at a slant, his hips curving slightly, hands limp and set into half-curls. His skin was alight with the gentle beams of the moon, the shadows dark and definitive. He practically glowed, and Mariku recalled seeing old paintings where the plump women were portrayed with some sort of surreal light to their skin, and he thought it relevant to Ryou's current state. A small, dark thought took hold, and he realized Ryou almost resembled a dead body, pale and stricken, but the small movement of his chest told otherwise.

He blinked heavily, spellbound, then brought his hands to his cheeks, rubbing beneath his eyes as he looked to the floor. He stuck his tongue out between his lips, and gently nibbled on it. He began to flake the mixed, dried cum from his chest and stomach, watching as it fell to the floor in small, thick flakes. Miffed and confused, Mariku threw his pants back on, and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He drudged downstairs into the empty lobby, breathing heavily as his chest continued to hurt him. He loped around for awhile, shuffling across the carpet with his bare feet and poking and prodding at things on the counter. He punched and tapped at the walls, finding the grooves in the wood and getting splinters into his fingertips as he rubbed them repeatedly against the coarse wood. Eventually, he plopped himself down into the plush, stained couch in front of the dead TV, his mind blank. And he sat, staring listlessly into nothing.

Otto had observed Mariku through the open door of the bar, silently sipping on a mug of watered down beer. He could tell the boy had lost quite a bit of weight, though he was still toned with hard muscle. It was a strange look: a lithe body with a bulging form. Otto had also stole small glimpses of the deep scars upon his back, as he had so long ago when he had first met Mariku, bruised and broken.

Otto watched as Mariku dove into the couch, melting into it. He didn't move after that, his eyes barely blinking as he stared forward at the blank TV. Otto puffed his lips out, thinking heavily. He had gone to check on them earlier, to ask Ryou when he wanted to leave exactly, but he had stopped outside the door. He had heard them - heard the moaning and banging of the headboard, and the squeaking of the mattress - and all he could do was stand there and listen with silent disdain before turning right back around and heading back to the bar, his lips curled and eyes wide.

Otto brought a hand to his eyes, pinching at the bridge of his nose before wiping his face with a sort of agitated tiredness. He didn't know exactly what to think. He didn't like gay people, he was raised not to like them. It was unnatural, a lame status of men. Against nature, against God's word. At times he would poke fun, but it he felt that it was always in a playful kind of disposition. Not something that was serious and forbidden. His hatred was something that was almost instilled into his blood, into his very being. A quiet indoctrination passed down through each generation, taught directly from his father, and from his father's father and so on, and yet -

He didn't regard Mariku with that cold, pointless hate.

Otto stood up, leaving the ripoff swill half full upon the counter, then walked into the lobby with a short, apathetic strut. The muffled music died behind him, and the harsh scent of cigarette smoke dwindled away. He slowly shuffled over to Mariku, sitting down next to him on the couch, his body sinking into the worn out seat. His cleared his throat, then laid back, staring at Mariku. Mariku didn't move, didn't even show any indication that he was aware of Otto's sudden appearance. Otto reached out and pushed at his shoulder gently, attempting to get his attention. Mariku mumbled in return, still staring forward with cold, listless eyes. Otto pushed again, harder this time, and Mariku slapped at Otto's arm, his face breaking out into a vicious snarl.

Otto lowered his head and raised his brows, "Don't you be like that. Talk to me, kid."

Mariku looked angrily at Otto, confused and upset, "About what?"

"About anything," Otto shrugged.

Mariku jerked his head away, frowning as he huffed, irritated. He wanted to be left alone with his thoughts, not pestered by an old man. The sudden intrusion of him had bothered him immensely, and set him in a flustered state.

"I didn't take you for a f- for gay," Otto fumbled.

Mariku looked back over to him, confused and angry, "For what?", his head shook jerkily as he squinted.

Otto pursed his lips, giving Mariku a look of contempt, "Doesn't matter, I suppose." Otto began to ponder over it, thinking that maybe Mariku wasn't even aware that he was gay. Maybe he had just been desperate for intimate contact, maybe he didn't care. Otto could never get a fair reading on him, now that he thought about it.

They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, and Otto watched as Mariku brought his hands to his face, pulling at his cheeks and rubbing at his eyes. He played with his tongue, waggling and flicking it across tight lips.

"What is that boy to you?"

Mariku stopped rubbing at his eyes, though his tongue still lay out between his lips. He stared up at the ceiling above him as the pink muscle slowly retreated back into his mouth, "I don't know. I don't care." He set his fingers into motion, rubbing them against each other. The pain of his splinters was a mild escape from the thoughts that were running through his mind like a rampant river. They twinged with sharp bites, and he reveled in them, indulging himself by pressing them harshly together. They were a small, welcome distraction, but he wished Otto would leave.

Otto nodded silently, "Mhm." He waited for Mariku's barriers to break down, to tell him things, but he didn't. It would happen, he knew. It usually did. Mariku stayed quiet, staring down at his fingers as he fumbled with them. Otto would have to prod more, "Tell me about him."

Mariku looked over to him, shrugging and jerking his eyes around, "I don't know. Ryou's just - Ryou's just Ryou."

"Ryou is just Ryou," Otto played the words, speaking them slowly. His mind ran amok, silently wondering how long Mariku and Ryou had been doing things, been together like this. It irked him to think they had been in the cabin like that, rolling around in the bunks, but then he thought it didn't really matter, "Why him?"

Mariku glared at him, not understanding, irritated and tired, "Leave me alone."

Otto shook his head curtly, "Nope. I want answers."

"Answers to what?"

He shrugged in return, deciding to change it up a bit. His current barrage against Mariku wasn't working, "Anything. What's the meaning of life?"

Mariku squinted his eyes, his lips curling in agitation. He rose from the couch, then began shuffling across the floor, peeved. He circled the TV a few times, crossing his arms across his chest. He then wandered to the fireplace just behind it, and began poking at the ashes. It was an older fireplace, made from red bricks that were charred and cracked. The fire itself was blackened and cold, and he prodded at the dead frigidness with his toes, his foot scraping the black coals and gray ashes, "Living," he finally responded.

"Living? You mean like - just staying alive, or something more along the lines of giving life meaning?"

"I don't know. Both," Mariku shrugged as he cocked his head, his hair bobbing gently. The ends of his hair frayed like spider silk, tickling the scarred wings of Isis. Otto stared at the boy's back, his eyes roaming across the elegant, beautiful designs that were engraved upon the smooth, caramel skin. Tribal, in an ancient, neolithic style. Otto knew they were Ancient Egyptian in design, but they held something darker, something more raw and brutal than mere hieroglyphs and pictures he didn't recognize. And he knew they weren't simple tattoos. They were carvings. Scarification. He had seen tribal scarification markings before, telling stories or signifying social statuses, but they weren't as large and detailed as this. Most of the ones he had seen were simple designs and notches, not written words and pictures depicting recognizable beasts. Mariku never did explain the scars to him, and he knew he probably never would. Looking closer, Otto could tell that Mariku's backbones were sticking out considerably, and he knew that if he had felt Mariku's taunt skin, the prominent bumps would be easily felt beneath his coarse fingers.

Otto cocked his head gently, "And what do you live for?"

Mariku stopped poking at the ashes, and he removed his foot. His toes were black, resembling the last stages of hypothermia, and his constricting chest gave him the thought of his heart being just as black, "I don't know," he mumbled.

Otto remained silent, then pushed himself from the couch, hobbling over towards Mariku. He pulled and slapped gently at the boy's shoulders, then tugged on his hair, "You know the meaning to life, and yet you don't know how to achieve that answer?"

Mariku shrugged Otto from him, side stepping away. He huffed heavily, irritated and confused as he glared into the dark fireplace. He didn't want to deal with a cryptic old man. His anger was beginning to boil, "Go. Away."

Otto knew he was close. In fact, he knew the answer to Mariku's woes, but he knew Mariku himself wasn't aware of it. The boy's brows were furrowed, and he looked as if he wanted to maul something. Ignoring the Egyptian's seething demand, he asked, "What do you think of Ryou leaving?"

Mariku's eyes widened. At the boy's name, Mariku's face sobered, becoming a somber mask. He frowned, his lips drooping pathetically. A sense of grief fluttered through him, and his body slackened from its tense stance, his arms falling to his sides, "I...I don't want him to."

Otto licked his lips, raising his chin up with a sense of accomplishment, "Why's that?"

Mariku shrugged, not really understanding himself, "It hurts me. The thought - it hurts me," he moved his arms around softly, picking at his pants.

Otto nodded gently, bringing a hand to his nose as he sniffled, "You like his company. You got bored out in that cabin. I think it made you sicker before he came around."

Mariku shook his head, "No. No, that's not - I liked being alone."

"Why?"

"Because it helped."

Otto looked down into the firepit, sighing heavily. He watched as the tanned boy continued to poke at the fire, his entire foot now completely black. He didn't know much of Mariku's past, and he didn't want to prod too deep, knowing the boy would probably lash out. He knew Mariku was angered easily, but even so, it was in small bouts of agitation that he seldom acted violently on. They mainly came in waves of irritated speech and frantic body movements, and an occasional punch to an inanimate object.

Otto understood the sense of solitude Mariku had reveled in. A lot of people came to this place simply for that reason. It was a place to run to, to get away from everything. To start anew. To escape. It was isolated, and far away from everything. But sometimes things caught up with people, and then they would realize that there was really nowhere to run to. It was impossible to escape from everything, no matter how far you went. It now appeared as if Mariku's past was coiling around him in a tight, enigmatic helix full of intricate forms of grief.

"Do you remember what I said to you when you first came here?"

Mariku shook his head, staring down into the blackened pit. He honestly didn't remember, couldn't remember. It was something stupid, something he knew to be irrelevant to his existence.

"I told you, that if you ever found yourself again, that I would make you leave."

Mariku scoffed, looking over to Otto with a sarcastic grimace. "Yeah? You cryptic old man - how the hell am I supposed to find myself? I don't have a family, I don't even have a proper name. I have nowhere to go, I've burned all the bridges I could have made. I hurt a lot of people, Otto. Hurt them so much that they wished me dead. Their wish came true, in a sense. Sort of. I don't know," he trailed off, eyes blinking heavily in thought.

Otto squinted his eyes at him, silently taking in this revelation. It had been vague, but it was enough. Enough for him to understand, to get a feel for Mariku's life before he had met Otto. Mariku hadn't explained much to him in Egypt, just quick grunts and short, curt answers that were bewildering in their further explanations about shadows, a better half and a pharaoh. They were quiet, unfocused mumblings of a enigmatic madman set in a lost depression. Otto had thought him on drugs at the time, but it was irrelevant now.

"So? So what, kid? You're thinking about the past too much. Look at what you have now, look at what you can live for now."

Mariku shook his head, not understanding, "What? A dingy little cabin out in the middle of fuckwit nowhere? I hate this cold, Otto, I hate it. I miss the heat, I miss the sand. But - But I don't know what to do. I don't. There's nothing I can do. I can't leave here, I don't want to leave here. I don't want to hurt anyone else. I'm stuck, there is nothing for me to live for. I don't even know why I'm here. Why I'm even alive," Mariku didn't want to explain further on that aspect, knowing Otto would never believe him. No one would ever believe him. He wasn't even a person. Not technically.

Otto popped his lips, looking to the ceiling, "Ryou," he sighed.

"What about him?" Mariku shot, snarling.

Otto wanted to slap the seething boy in front of him for being so blind, so stupid. He wasn't connecting the dots even though Otto had pointedly left them right out in the open, "He is what you will live for. He is your meaning to life, " he smiled.

Otto then left him, hobbling back over to the bar. Mariku simply stood by the fireplace, staring sadly into the blackened coals, contemplating. Otto's statement had just further confused him. How was he supposed to live for something if that something was leaving him?

He felt utterly broken, and a deep feeling of anguished helplessness took hold of him. But all he could do was stare down at his blackened foot, wishing to wash the unsettling blackness away.

Because he knew that same blackness was the color of his very soul.

000

There was blood on the bed.

His blood.

A deep, red pool where he had been laying, and driplets and streaks from when he had moved during the night. Most of it had dried, but the middle of the large pool was still wet, though cold to the touch. His fingers shook as they came back crimson, and a shiver ran up his spine. He nearly gagged at the sight, and jerked away from the bed, sliding off of the springy mattress in horror. His legs were wobbly, and his stomach lurched. His head reeled for a moment, and he stood awkwardly, attempting to catch his balance.

Frightened and concerned, Ryou limped into the bathroom, his entire body aching. His limbs were sore, and points of his body throbbed painfully. A flaming hellfire raged in his lower back and in a spot he didn't want to ponder over, and he let out a choked sob. Dried cum flaked off of his chest and stomach, and his lips curled in disgust. He squealed softly as he scraped it off vigorously, positively revolted as it fell to the floor. The off-white coating stuck beneath his fingernails, and he picked at them with his thumbnails, trying to get the crusty filth out.

He hobbled into the bathroom, flicking the light on, then quickly surveyed the tiny area. There was a sink next to a filthy toilet, and beyond the toilet, a tiny shower without a curtain. A full bodied mirror hung on the wall across from the sink, and he cringed at himself as he rounded over to it. He had dark bruises all over his skin, most of them hickeys. There were red marks where Mariku had clawed at him, the blood dry and speckled. His collarbone had a large scab in the shape of a bite mark, and several hickeys dotted across his neck. He turned around, peeking over his shoulder and hissing in pain from the movement. His entire back wasn't much better off, with more bruises and scratches. There were bruises in the shape of hands across his thighs and buttocks, and he frowned deeply, eyes widening.

He whined softly, tears falling down his cheeks in disbelief. There were dried blotches of thin blood caking his inner thighs, flowing from between his buttocks. They flaked away as he moved, falling to the floor, and he had never felt lower in his entire life. He felt stupid and ashamed, upset with himself and upset with Mariku. He couldn't believe that he had gotten so caught up in the moment last night - couldn't believe he had done such a thing with the Egyptian. And he felt stupid for not realizing how much Mariku had been hurting him. He had completely forfeited his coherence in exchange for the mind-numbing sensations he had experienced through Mariku's harsh ministrations, but he felt that it wasn't worth the aftermath. Stupid. So, so stupid.

He hobbled over to the shower, twisting the knobs. The water came out orange before becoming clear, and he fumbled with the temperature, attempting to get it hot enough for his tastes, though it barely went above the cool temperature of lukewarm. He hopped into it, uncaring as the water splashed out onto the floor. Under a different circumstance, this shower would have been a wonderful treat, and he would have enjoyed the freely flowing water cascading over him. But he simply stood there, shivering as the water fell over him, an ache festering in his chest. The water stung his scabs, and hit his bruises. The streams coursing down his back dribbled down between his buttocks, and stung him fiercely, but it didn't hurt nearly as much as his pride.

He hadn't wanted Mariku. Not like that. It was almost like casual sex. Almost. Sort of. Maybe. Mariku was hard to understand, to get a feel for his motives, for his thoughts. And this upset him. He didn't really know how Mariku felt about him - maybe it was just a quick, hard romp due to Mariku's blatant lack of regard towards society, and was just a way to fuel his basic, sexual needs. Boys had needs after all, needs that couldn't always be satisfied by a quick, solitary pop in a sauna shed.

Ryou was still a virgin - had been before last night. He had never even been with a girl. He wanted to save it for someone special - a kind of stupid promise he had made for himself, even though, deep down, he wasn't certain that he would ever get with anybody, considering. He was too shy, too reserved. And he never really showed any interest in anyone, even when he had a fit of girls fawning over him at school.

He hadn't kissed Mariku for a particularly deep reason. It was just a small, consoling action he had used. He had felt awkward and sad that Mariku was so upset, and it was merely something to comfort him with. Not for that sort of affection, not for the affection that Mariku took it as.

And then Ryou felt overtly dumb. Of course Mariku would take a kiss 'like that'. Who wouldn't? And he hadn't told Mariku to stop, never told him not to do those things. He had made absolutely no effort to stop him, and this sickened him. He had acted so helpless. He felt used, especially since Mariku had disappeared into nothing. He was gone. Just - gone. Ryou wasn't in the correct state of mind to realize that perhaps he was merely downstairs, but but he was too upset to think of much of anything with reasoning.

He began to cry in the shower, at first the tears simply fell silently, mixing with the water. They warmed his cheeks, and his eyes stung as a lump welled into his throat. Then he broke down, sobbing uncontrollably as he sunk to the bottom of the shower, curling into a fetal knot as he wailed.

He stayed like that a long time, his chest burning, his body aching. His behind stung, a tortuous reminder, and he partly cried for that pain as well, though his mental anguish was overwhelming. His entire trip was supposed to be filled with happiness, to comfort him and let him relax. Instead, he had been assaulted mentally and physically to the point of his breakdown. He had wanted to escape from the apprehensive misery of Domino City, to escape his spirit. He wanted to see his father again, whom he hadn't seen since he was a child - and then his father had simply abandoned him, left him for dead. Ryou had somehow managed to bump into a vile creature from his past - from his spirit's past - someone who he had never even met. Someone who he had vague dreams about, through memories that weren't even his own.

And then he used him.

He lost himself in an onslaught of devastating thoughts, a stigma wasting him as a fragile vehemence burned in the back of his mind. He felt utterly lost and destitute, powerless in every sense of the word. He had always been a bit of a gullible fool, and he had left his very soul exposed for the taking.

Debilitating sobs wracked his form, his entire body shuddering as goosebumps began to arrange themselves across his broken, bruised skin. The harsh caresses of the water manipulated him into a sense of mental drowning, and he began to feel disoriented and disconnected. Nothing mattered anymore, it was too much for him to handle, to register and understand.

He didn't hear the door to the room open, nor the soft footsteps entering the bathroom, stepping softly onto the wet tile. He barely felt the strong, warm arms scoop him up out of the water, pulling him out of the tub. His body stayed limp until he felt the floor beneath him, and he attempted to set his feet aground almost on instinct. It was only when he was out in the dry, cold air that he opened his eyes, tears blurring his vision as his wet hair clung to his face. Mariku was holding onto him, face blank, though his eyes were set with the dark burden of bereavement.

"I hate you," Ryou whispered, choking on a half-sob.

Mariku shuddered violently, almost resembling a seizure, and he released the soaking wet whitenette. Ryou stumbled to keep himself standing, his hand jerking out onto the sink. The whole front of Mariku was wet from holding onto Ryou, the water dark and shining against his bronze, muscled skin. Mariku retreated, backwards, out of the bathroom, his hands shaking. He sat himself on the very edge of the bed, twiddling his thumbs as he blinked heavily, pondering, "Why?"

"Why WHAT?!"

Mariku cringed at Ryou's shout, his eyes shutting tight, brows furrowing, "Why hate me?"

Ryou stared at him, naked and confused, driplets of water falling off of him. A shock of cold sent a shiver up his spine, and his body tingled as more goosebumps formed, "I didn't want that. I didn't want any of that - I didn't. I hurt - you hurt me. I still hurt. Everything hurts, Mariku," he blubbered. He wasn't entirely coherent yet. His mental distress blocked his cogitation, and the realization of his nakedness never dawned on him. He hadn't the thought to cover himself, his shame was nonexistent. Even if he was in a state of reasoning, he wouldn't recognize his nakedness entirely significant. His disgrace was still lingering around the bed, where the night's transpiring continued to dwell in hot memories and dirty sheets.

Mariku kept his head down, inhaling deeply, his eyes still closed. Hurt. He hurt someone. He hurt Ryou. Hurt him. Hurt. Like he used to hurt people back in Battle City. Like he used to hurt everybody, every single person he had come across. How he hurt the people who he got close to. He could never change, no matter how far he ran from it, no matter how hard he tried to stay calm, "I'm sorry," he whispered softly, his thoughts in bitter misery as he reflected.

"Then why did you do this to me?!" Ryou screeched, the water flying from him as he jerked his head.

"Why did you kiss me?" Mariku retorted, bringing his anguished gaze up to Ryou's. His eyes were desolate and caliginous, with a whisper of crisp ire. They were set in distress, a perplexing mixture of despair and pleading.

And Ryou couldn't answer his retaliated question, because he really didn't know. He could have hugged Mariku instead, or offered him kind words. Maybe even distracted him with something else to change the mood, the conversation. But kissing him? It was just a returned offer, a mimicry to what Mariku had done. It wasn't anything he had put much thought into. It was nothing special, nothing important. Or so he had thought. Maybe he did like Mariku, maybe he just didn't realize it. He really didn't know.

Ryou began crying again, sniffling sheepishly. He brought his hands to his face, then knelt down to the floor, collapsing and sobbing uncontrollably as the cold tile prickled his hot skin. His mental anguish destroyed him, and his body was completely aflame with hot agony. The shower continued to run, the water splashing out onto the floor, misting him and flooding around his body. Mariku frowned heavily, removing himself from the bed and walking over to Ryou, tentatively stepping towards him.

"STAY AWAY!"

And Mariku halted, staring down at the nude, sniveling mess of a creature that he had ruined.

000

Ryou had later collected himself, dressing quickly and lumbering downstairs with his duffle bag, his entire body still soaking. His hair dripped around his face, sending water down his back and across his shoulders and wetting his clothing. He ignored Mariku, leaving him in the room by himself, pointedly making sure he wasn't following him as he stormed out, wiping his nose. He looked around for Otto, then watched as he poked himself out of the bar next door, smoke rising from him. He looked deathly tired, and blinked heavily at Ryou's haphazard appearance.

"I want to leave."

Otto halted, staring at him apprehensively, "Right now?"

"Right now."

Otto's gaze went to the stairs, wondering where Mariku was, and what he was thinking. What they had just spoken of, and why Ryou would be so blatantly upset, "I'll uh...I'll go start the truck. Let her warm for a bit, you know."

Ryou nodded curtly, and Otto left through the main entryway. Ryou stayed where he was, and listened as an engine sputtered and revved up outside. Otto gave him an inquisitive gaze when he returned, and he stepped towards him with a short, awkward waltz, "Are you alright?"

Ryou shook his head, tears threatening to fall from his eyes, "Nope. Nope, not at all. I just - I just want to go home," his voice cracked as the lump in his throat shifted, and he fought with all his might not to start crying again.

Otto noticed movement from up the stairs, and he was met with the horrifyingly morose expression that Mariku had plastered across his face. He watched as the tanned boy pulled at his face, then tug at his hair. He continued to stare down at Ryou, completely overwrought with tortuous despair. Otto squinted his eyes, then tugged at Ryou's sleeve, leading him outside. He noticed the short limp that Ryou gave, and he grimaced, disgusted at the implications. The cold air washed across them, and Ryou shivered. He had left the borrowed coat in the room with Mariku, not wanting to keep it. Not wanting to keep a piece of the affliction that ravaged his thoughts, and destroyed him physically and mentally.

Otto led him over to the bumbling truck, an older model riddled with rust and chipping paint. He opened the door for him, the hinges squeaking loudly as the door shifted down against its own weight. He closed it after the boy threw himself in, then Otto then wandered over to the driver's side. They sat in mutual silence for a time, and Otto studied Ryou. His eyes were wide, and he held his head in his hand, his elbow resting on the door's handle. He grimaced at the dark, round bruises on the boy's neck, knowing that they were hickeys. He stuck his tongue out in disgust, his imagination not leaving him alone as he thought of the two boys's actions from the previous night.

Otto sighed heavily, shaking his head as he put his truck into gear, and off they went, leaving the dilapidated motel, and Mariku, behind.

000

"You're not gonna rat me out, are you?"

Ryou looked over to Otto, his gaze leaving the desolate road, "What?"

"Rat me out. Keeping an illegal kid to make illegal booze isn't particularly...well. You know."

Ryou scoffed, irritated "Don't worry about it."

Otto sighed inwardly. He had been using Mariku to make his potent swill, to help keep himself afloat in a hard, expensive world, "You know, I don't think I'd be able to find anyone else who would stay at that cabin, all alone, to run that still. Especially for free."

Ryou placed his head on the window, staring off into the barren trees and white expanse, uninterested. The cold glass against his forehead alleviated his slight headache that was beginning to flare, though the subtle bumps from the road disturbed his otherwise pleasant resting spot.

"Sure, I gave the kid a place to stay, but he still had to make his own income. Completely independent from the still. Taught him how to trap, how to tan hides. Make shit, carve shit. I don't know anybody who would do that, though. Everybody always wanted their own base profit for their endeavors in the still. Even my own nephew - who was a runaway convict, by the way - and yet that Egyptian didn't complain over it."

Ryou blinked tiredly, understanding that Otto had been using Mariku as a form of under-the-table-income, though not really caring. He didn't care about anything anymore. His mind was simply numb, and he wish his body felt the same. He was still exceptionally sore, and his nether region bit at him with an electrifying force over every bump in the road.

"Just - don't rat me out. For all I know, that kid could be a convict, too. Finding a safe-haven in that cabin. He doesn't even have a green card to be here, or anything like that. That just makes for even bigger problems. Not to mention the scrutiny for not taking you to town and reporting the plane crash. That's serious shit, Ryou. I don't want to get involved in that shitstorm - I'd be in a hell of a lot of trouble holding a possible illegal convict running an illegal still.

"Otto, shut up."

Otto widened his eyes, lips tightening for a moment. He couldn't stay quiet, however. He wanted to prod, he wanted to understand something. He needed to hear Ryou. But he also knew that Ryou needed to hear himself, "Oh, no, kid. Tell me what's up. What's the matter?"

Ryou's face softened, and he continued to stare out the window, saddened, "Everything," he whispered.

They rode in silence for a time after that, the only sound the squeaking shocks and occasional sputter of the engine. As they started crossing a bridge, Otto spoke again, "When I found him, he was bloody and beaten."

This caught Ryou's attention, and he immediately shot his head towards Otto. "What?"

"Mariku," he fumbled with the name, "When I first met him. He was a mess. Been through some serious shit. All he wanted was some food in his belly and a place to stay. He was in rough shape. Skinny. Real skinny. Sick looking, you know?"

Ryou averted his gaze out the front windshield, blinking heavily.

"Gave him a place to stay for a bit and some grub. Had him work for me for a bit...I dressed his wounds and the like..." Otto stalled, swallowing heavily, "He'd been raped."

Ryou's breath hitched considerably, and he shuddered. He stared, horrified, at Otto. Otto kept his attention on the road, unhindered.

"...after all that I brought him over here. He obviously wasn't doing too well over there. Like I told ya back at the cabin, it was pretty difficult getting him over here. No name, no passport. Smuggled him over here like one hundred pounds of coke," he laughed at that, then sniffled, realizing it wasn't really that funny, "He really likes you, you know."

Still shocked by what Otto had said, Ryou could only stare at him, swallowing heavily.

"I've never," Otto continued, " seen him so...hmm, lively? Animated? Not really good words for him, considering, but...I'm sure you get my point. He slept on the couch in the lobby last night. I watched him. Kept my eye on him. He was pretty troubled. He kept waking up and - and crying. Boys don't cry, Ryou. It ain't - I don't know, it ain't right, you know?" Otto stalled for a moment, then "He kept you in that cabin longer than he needed to. Way longer. If I hadn't come by, he probably would have kept you there forever. He was lonely, Ryou. He was lost. Found himself through you. And I don't think I'll be able to save him this time."

This time. Otto had saved him from a fate of starvation and abuse, simply because he had been so confused and wayward in his sudden, renewed birth. He had festered in the cabin, alone and lonesome, his past eating away at him, physically and mentally destroying him. He had a lame purpose in his abrupt emergence into the world, a purpose that Otto gave him, nonetheless. The only human contact he received was brief and curt, and Ryou knew this firsthand from the rude lady and her maybe-son. Along with Otto himself, and even the desk clerk at the motel. Even in Egypt, with Malik and - Ryou broke the thought. This just probably made him even more socially inept, and even more confused with his role in life. A demoralizing position. A position that would break someone over a long period of time.

And then, suddenly, Ryou remembered Mariku's tears. The warm, wet tears against his hand as those sad, violet eyes stared down at him after their spontaneous endeavors upon the bed. He had been confused by them, unable to comprehend them as his mind went numb. He remembered the tears smearing across his chest when Mariku had lay upon him, and he remembered the way Mariku's body shuddered with soft, silent sobs. And he remembered the kisses on his scars, as if he were trying to wipe them away with his lips. The quiet words that were uttered to him behind an expression of utter anguish before they had lost themselves into the sheets came to mind, and this shattered him. Mariku's sadness was deep, so abysmal and complex, to the point that Ryou wouldn't really be able to penetrate into Mariku's mystifying psyche.

He may not understand Mariku's thoughts, or reasoning, but he understood that Mariku didn't want him to leave. He wanted to stay with him, wanted his company, for whatever reason, be it something mild or something that was more immersed in raw emotion. Mariku liked him - as Otto had said. Last night had not just been a pointless, mindless endeavor on Mariku's part. Mariku's kiss - it had been genuinely affectionate, a desperate attempt to receive the attention he so craved from Ryou. A rash, frantic action that he had later acted further on, with the same amount of devotion and passion, even if it was crude and infused with base yearnings.

And Ryou realized, with a sense of deep anxiety, that he didn't really want to leave Mariku, either.

"Turn around."

Otto raised his eyebrows, his mouth twitching for a grin. He began to slow down the truck, pulling off to the side of the road in order to turn back around. He began driving down the road, back the way they came, though he sped it up a bit in muted excitement. Ryou began picking at his clothes, sniffling as he became apprehensive. Otto could only continue to smile, knowing that he had won a small victory. A wave of prideful cheer rushed through him, and he licked his lips, his tongue tickled by his thick mustache. He felt entirely responsible for managing to dig into the boys' mental problems, by nudging at their thoughts and formulating them correctly. He felt accomplished, proud of his endeavors to press the two boys back together.

Even if they were gay.

000

Buttsex hurts, kids. Remember to use lots of lube. But also make sure you're not having sex with a previously homicidal maniac who was hellbent on death and destruction, with a dash of TORTURE. He'll fuck you up in bed. Even when he's playing nice.

Mhm.

I also got a fanart for this and I can't even begin to express my excitement for that. -carnal sniveling-

I actually have a few sketches for this fic lying around as well...MAYBE I SHOULD STOP BEING A LAZY BASTARD AND COLOR THEM.

...nah. I'll just let them rot.

Like 99% of my projects.

KTHX FOR READING PLEASE REVIEW? ilu long time, sucky-fucky.


	8. Chapter 8

Meh. Meh meh meh.

I've realized that this story has become my means of venting over irl problems. Because when something distressing happens I want to writteeee.

I'VE APPARENTLY NEVER HEARD OF A JOURNAL HAHAHA.

000

Dread settled in Ryou's belly in a gnarled knot, twisting his insides and causing his breath to hitch. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, the pink muscle swelling as as it dried. His eyes went wide, watering as the air stung them. The room in the dilapidated motel that he and Mariku had stayed in was in complete disarray. Everything was an utter mess, destroyed and haphazard, broken and splintered. It looked as though a massive hurricane had rushed through it in a violent, destructive gale, sending everything flying and smashing everything apart. The table was overturned, the chairs bent and broken. The mattress had been flipped onto the floor, ripped open and stabbed repeatedly, the feather down pillows split open, the stark white feathers littering the floor. The lamp from the bedstand was shattered across the carpet, tiny shards glistening in the light from the window. The bedstand itself had been torn apart, thrown against a wall that now held a giant indentation. Pieces of wood cracked beneath Ryou's feet as he stepped further into the room, the sound shocking his very soul. Ryou found the blankets in the bathtub, soaking wet as the shower continued to cascade water out onto them, the water puddling out towards the carpet. The blankets were torn, the white stuffing protruding from holes, squeezed out in some ferocious act of violence. The mirror in the bathroom had been entirely annihilated, not a single piece of reflective glass still remaining in the frame. The pieces reflected back upon him, and all he could do was stare down at the hundreds of startled faces with a deep sense of foreboding grief.

Ryou heard yelling from downstairs, and recognized the sharp tone of Otto's voice. Concerned and scared, he left the room and hobbled down the stairs, and watched as the innkeeper and Otto bickered over the state of the room, though Otto himself hadn't climbed the stairs with Ryou to assess it. Ryou listened awkwardly, knowing full well that Mariku was in a bout of trouble for destroying everything, though the Egyptian obviously wasn't anywhere to be found from the immediate area. The snowmobile was still outside, so he couldn't have gone too far, or so Ryou hoped.

Ryou stared, disturbed, at the innkeeper, one side of his face swelling in a mass of purple and red, and he was terrified of the implications of the bruised wound.

"-kid socked me real good, nearly knocked my ass out - fucker's violent, Otto. JUST left, just kicked the prick out! The little shit destroyed the room - everything in the room is fucked! I can't rent it out to no one, no how and I demand compensation for everything and -"

"Bill, shut your mouth! You and I both know full well that the room isn't even worth opening up for anyone. You're lucky you're even in business, and even more lucky that nobody's come to shut you down for having such a shit building with shit booze, and shit service!"

The innkeeper - Bill, so he would be - gawked openly at Otto, as if he had been deeply offended by this mock revelation of the state of his business and personal self. He stepped forward slightly, jabbing a finger into Otto's chest, "You ain't welcome here no more. Nor that piss-ant Egyptian freak. You pay up for the damages -"

"I'm not paying you shit. And neither is Mariku," Again, he fumbled with the name, pronouncing it with a heavy 'd'. Otto waved his hand at Ryou, gesturing that it was time to leave, and Ryou could only gawk at the floor in embarrassed guilt, somehow connecting the state of the room to himself. Ryou fumbled after Otto, but Bill shouted after them, said words that shook to the core, "I'm calling the toopers!"

Otto suddenly turned on his heels, and Ryou shot his gaze up to him, observing the older man's furious expression. His face went red quicker than Ryou thought possible, and he rushed Bill quickly, jabbing his own finger into his chest as a returned, offensive gesture, "YOU call the troopers, I'LL tell them how you have underage girls next door. I'LL tell them how these walls have LAYERS of BLACK MOLD growing in them. I'LL tell them how you let that one serial killer stay here for free several months back - and you knew exactly who he was! And I'LL tell them how you've been swindling money by serving shit booze!"

They glared hotly at each other, knowing full well that they were at a stand still. Bill knew of Otto's whiskey still out at the old cabin, though he didn't fully know the extent of its use, nor of Mariku's placement in it all. Even so, it remained a heavy blackmail bargain, something that Bill could dangle in front of Otto's nose, then throw it to the correctly trained dogs. But - Otto had a more sensible level of truth, something solid that could be easily investigated, and Bill knew that he had lost.

Bill threw his hands up, his lips tight, brow glistening with sweat, "FINE."

"FINE. Do you have any idea where he went?" Otto's spat back, his words fierce and agitated. Bill threw his hands up again in equal agitation, his face hot, "Don't know, don't care!"

And that was it. Otto rushed out the door, Ryou following nervously at his heels, horrified and feeling terribly lost.

Otto sighed heavily, scratching at his head in agitation. His feet were heavy beneath him, stepping harshly on the rotten porch, and he angled his body awkwardly, circling in an attempt to get a feel for where Mariku might have gone, "He's probably down at the river."

"The river?" Ryou's voice was more soft and tentative than he had thought it would be, and he was slightly ashamed of its timidness, so different from the shouting he had just witnessed.

"Mhm, yep. He usually goes down there when he comes to town. Likes the water, likes to be alone," Otto said this quickly, his eyes wide, and Ryou knew that Otto was scared. Scared for Mariku, of course, but perhaps he was more scared for himself, for his own situation. Having a lost, festering nightmare running rampant that you were responsible for didn't exactly pan out too well.

Ryou thought over this, swiftly coming to the conclusion that Otto wasn't entirely sure where Mariku was, and he did all he could not to break down in despair. Mariku wasn't socially able, and Ryou knew that Mariku was beyond furious, and those two combined would create disastrous consequences, maybe even worse than what had happened to the room, "We can go look at the river, real quick," he stuttered.

The gray hair bobbed briskly, the beard scraping against Otto's chest, and then he was stepping off the porch, walking down the side of the road. Ryou followed him shortly, their feet crunching in the snow as they shuffled along. It was warm out, though the sky was gray and cloudy, dampening their spirits with subtle gloom, the buildings they passed cracked and dark. Everything seemed impossibly morose, closing in and choking them.

After a brisk walk, Otto suddenly broke from the road, passing between two birch trees onto a small path, "Yeah, maybe these are his," Ryou heard him mumble, and watched as Otto stared down at the footprints in the snow. There was only one recent set, virtually invisible in the endless white, though they showed small gray and blue indents of toes, "Yeah. Yeah, these are probably most definitely his. Barefoot - pfuh." Otto scoffed, then headed down the small pathway himself, agitated and wheezing.

The trail was overgrown with spruce and birch trees, and the massive cottonwoods loomed over them, their branches raking the sky. Small briars attacked their legs, clinging to their clothing as they passed them by, stinging their skin as the barbs were released. Ryou limped behind Otto, his arms inside his shirt to keep himself warm. His balance was awry, and his mind burned almost as much as his body, and when they started going downhill, the jerking of his hard steps caused him to wince.

"Ehm! There he is," Otto stopped walking, crouching a bit to see through the trees, "Shirtless and all," he added, almost as an afterthought. He turned around, sniffling and pursed his lips at Ryou, "You go get him, I'm going to go get the truck. See if I can get some of his clothes from Bill, damn his soul."

Ryou almost jumped to argue with Otto, to tell him that he didn't want to go down to Mariku alone, but the old man was gone before he could even emit a peep, had simply disappeared in a quick act of clambering and wheezing. The whole world went quiet, the only sound the gentle gurgle of the river below, and Ryou felt horrified and utterly alone.

But he wasn't alone, not technically. No, he was with a raging, destructive lunatic that was potentially dangerous to his well-being.

He had to stop himself right there, ruefully telling himself that it was Mariku. Confused, lonely, wayward Mariku, who had some innate problem with his own self image, and had a severe lack of proper communication skills, and an obvious violent temper, among many other things. But it was still just Mariku.

Sighing heavily through his nose, Ryou continued down the side of the bank, careful of his footing. He was forced to take his arms out of his shirt in order to balance himself and grasp ahold of trees to keep upright, and goosebumps rushed across his skin, sending shivers up his back. His nerves flared out in protest as he moved, hurting him, and he just wished his suffering would end, thinking that this was enough punishment to have to deal with the emotional drama he'd been flung up against.

He felt a sudden openness when the trail broke off onto the riverbed, as if he just came out of a cramped room, and everything seemed so bright. The ravens in the trees suddenly snapped at him, clicking and warbling as they observed this new individual pop out of the trees. He looked around quickly, observing his surroundings in a dismal manner. Most of the river lay at the opposite bank, a large, white snake that wound its way through the deep canyon. It broke off in several places, curling around rocks and running through different beds, around islands and felled trees. Some of the smaller streams were covered over with snow, though they still ran beneath. Mariku stood before one of these broken, rogue streams, his back facing Ryou, the front of his toes in the flowing water.

"Hey," Ryou tried, uncertain and stiff.

Mariku regarded his presence with apathy, not even looking at him from over his scarred shoulders. He gave a small inclination of his head, "It felt so good, Ryou. It felt so good."

Ryou watched him wearily, studying him as he began to pace along the riverbank, his head jerking, as if he had a sudden tick. The sandy-blonde hair shifted in the slight breeze, curling and swaying, lost in the wind. He held the jacket that Ryou had borrowed at his side, his fist clenched tightly around it, though it dragged gently against the snow and rocks, bits of it dark and wet. His feet were bare and scarlet red, torn and cold. His torso was bare and fearsome, the muscles tense and firm as the skin rippled in horripilation. Ryou grimaced up at him, concerned, "What are you talking about?"

Mariku suddenly whipped his head towards him, a horrid, feral look to him, violent and unchained, "Destroying all of it. The room. Breaking things, hearing things shatter. Ruining everything." His words were quick and sharp, leveled in their subtle cruelty, penetrating and crisp. His eyes bounced away from Ryou and back, unfocused and edgy.

Fear gripped hold of Ryou, striking him deep and throwing him into distress. Mariku's eyes resembled that of an animal, glassy and incomprehensibly wild, and Ryou thought perhaps Mariku was too far gone. Disoriented in a fit of rage, pawing at the things he used to know, the things he was most familiar with, the horrible things that he used to revel in. His face pulsed and twitched, his tongue stuck between his lips when he wasn't talking. Ryou frowned, "No. No, you stop that. That is NOT you - this is -"

"WHO ARE YOU TO KNOW WHO I AM?"

Ryou stepped back as Mariku jerked towards him in mockery, as if he were about to rush him and beat him. The Egyptian scoffed heavily, flicking his wrist towards the pale boy in disgust, though Ryou couldn't tell if it was with him, or Mariku himself. Ryou was terrified, and he wished Otto hadn't abandoned him, leaving him with a potentially dangerous individual, even if it was Mariku. But perhaps Mariku was even worse than the standard irate person, considering who and what he was. A malignant romance between hatred and magic created him, and this sudden thought made it all the more believable that Mariku was entirely irretrievable.

"I - I was BORN for this. For that. I reveled in pain. All of it, given or received. Destruction was my bittersweet bane. Carnage, wrecking everything! It was beautiful to me," Mariku grinned, his eyes glazed and jerking, though his brows were lifted in sorrow, as if he wasn't even certain of what he was saying, "When I punched that fucker - mmmh!" he hummed, his head twitching at the thought.

Ryou took a tentative step backwards, ready to bolt if he needed to. He had never seen Mariku like this, so virulent and unpredictable, "But not anymore, Mariku. You were like that at one time, but not anymore. You said this - you said this back at the cabin. You said the shadows manipulated you -"

Suddenly, Mariku rushed him for real this time, his feet quick in the slushy snow. His skin slapped against the rocks, hard and loud. Ryou brought his hands up in a feeble attempt to somehow protect himself, though he knew he wouldn't be able to hold himself against Mariku even if he wanted to. He heard the coat flop to the ground, and hot breath pulsed across the front of his face, and he felt stupid for not running. He felt hands grip his head harshly, fingers pulling at his hair, and he clenched his eyes shut, waiting, though for what, he didn't know. He half expected another kiss like the one in the room, but at the same time, knew he wouldn't receive one. Mariku's next words struck him just as a physical blow would, "You left me. I hurt you and you left me. Like everyone else. Everyone. Everyone always leaves me when I hurt them."

His words were seething, harsh and cold, yet they held a heartbroken tone, subtly sore and doleful.

"But then - you came back," he continued. Ryou heard the quiver to his voice, the soft bubbling that would form eventual disconcerted wailing, and he opened his eyes. For a moment, he watched as Mariku studied his face, his cold fingers running over his cheeks, as if he were attempting to figure out what Ryou exactly was. Suddenly, Mariku jerked away from him violently and quickly, as if he had been struck. He tugged on Ryou's hair one last time, pulling it harshly, as though he didn't want to let go, "Why? Why did you come back? To crush me further, to tell me how vile I am? What a horrid monster I am to have hurt you?"

Ryou shook his head softly, scared and sad, "No. No, Mariku. No."

Mariku was genuinely confused, and he moved his arms about in discomfort, "Then why?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No."

"You don't know why you kissed me and you don't know why you came back?"

Ryou looked away, unable to meet Mariku's steadfast gaze, full of forlorn anguish with a twinge of spite. He was surprised Mariku had even brought up the kiss, and even more surprised that Mariku would interrogate him like this, especially in his current state. "No," he answered again, though his answer was only partially true. He still wasn't entirely sure of his feelings, and he most certainly wasn't sure of his reasoning. He was just too confused, and he knew if he tried to explain, that it wouldn't make much sense. None of it even made any sense to himself.

Mariku continued to stare at him, and Ryou found the few exposed rocks by the riverbank exceptionally interesting. They stayed in awkward silence for a moment, trying to understand each other, and themselves. They were silently attempting to figure everything out, while the ravens in the trees barked at them like rabid dogs, howling with a broken dirge.

"You should come back with me," Ryou muttered. His voice was quiet and soft, and Mariku wasn't sure if he heard him correctly.

Mariku twitched in a fit of spasms, flicking his tongue across his lips and grazing it against his teeth as he scowled. He tried to understand the meaning of Ryou's words, though he took them wrongly in a small wit of misunderstanding, "I'm not going back up there. I don't want to go back to the motel, I don't want to go back to the cabin. Just leave me here, I don't want anything anymore. I don't want - I don't want anything. I just want - I just -" Mariku trailed off, upset and completely shot, his brain unwilling to finish the sentence - all he wanted, in truth, was Ryou. His rage subsided considerably and his world seemed to come crashing down at this revelation. He felt small and stupid, and wished everything would just go away, that he could be let alone to grovel in despair. A massive wave of depression hit him, and he almost broke down in a fit of staggering confusion, but Ryou spoke before he collapsed in on himself.

"No. No, Mariku. Come back with me. To Japan."

At this, Mariku blanched. His stomach curled into itself, knotting terribly, and his mind went blank until a wave of raw emotions hit him with such force it nearly caused him to cry out. He was even further confused, and a rush of thoughts and scenarios quickly plagued his mind. Back to Japan, where he had caused so much pain, where everyone still lived. Maybe they would confront him, maybe they would beat him down mentally for causing so much strife. Maybe they would chase him out, or even kill him.

And then he thought of Ryou, who was initially inviting him. Ryou was everything, his lifeline, his flame, the cherry to his Shirley Temple. Ryou was all he needed, and if the eclipse came to overtake him, the simple knowledge of Ryou being at his side would ease his suffering. He would be that glow around the rim, dim as it was. Mariku would cling to it with all he was worth, adhering the rich buffer that would hold him in reality's grasp.

All Mariku could do in response was stumble towards the pale boy and collapse to his knees only halfway there, scraping them on the rocks. With his knees soaked through, and his hands shaking, he stared up at Ryou, disbelieving what he had heard, and unable to comprehend the full implications of what the boy had uttered. It was like a sonnet to him, something so sickeningly saccharine that he could practically feel the very soul of those words, as if they were a silent pledge for Mariku's very life. Valid, in a declaration expelled by rosy lips, rolled from a pink, stirring tongue. Riding on a wisp of frosted air, and dissipating into the bleak frigidity of the murmuring river and unyielding warbles of the ravens.

"What?" he had to ask, uncertain and anxious, unwilling to accept if Ryou had said something else entirely. He felt numb, and stared, stupefied, up at Ryou, his eyes glassy as his fingers twitched.

Mariku's sudden shift in mood slightly startled Ryou, as it was almost seemed as if his emotions were connected to a mental light switch, so easily flicked. "Come back with me. To Japan," Ryou sighed. The sight of Mariku on his knees nearly broke him, and he felt entirely at fault. Those violet, hazy eyes were suddenly filled with desiring faith, yet they flickered with helpless disbelief, as if they were portraying a conflicting nation lost in a civil war.

Mariku looked to the ground, his head bobbing gently, and he blinked heavily, feeling very tired. The wet stones were dark and glistening, bits of snow persistent in their attempt to curl around the rocks in an attempt at self-preservation. He watched as Ryou's legs shuffled over to him, the bottom of his pant legs dark and wet, his boots sloshing. Mariku began crying feebly, feeling strangely beholden as Ryou crouched in front of him to hug him close.

And so he was here, the pale, warm, beautiful individual who he had drug from the plane wreck, holding him gently. The hot breath against the side of his head told him life was here. The firm, yet gentle hold against his own body held a testimonial sense of authenticity to the boy's existence. The faint smell of lavender soothed him away from the smell of the cold river and wet soil, chasing away his decaying mind and settling him into clear sensibility. This entity was not a figment of his rampant imagination, formed out of feelings of ill-worth and troubled desperation. He was not gone. He was here. Not lost to the world as Mariku had thought him to be, gone in a small trail of cold water and a hot temper. Mariku had saved his life at one time, though on a sub-level of his subconscious mind, he knew that it was Ryou who had saved him.

000

"Where you live anyways?"

Ryou glanced over at Otto, blinking tiredly. He still ached terribly, and moving around during his headhunt for Mariku had agitated his body even further. Because of this, and of his weary mind, he was grumpy, though he refused to lash out as he wanted to.

They had all clambered back into the truck and left the town, once more heading down the unpaved road, bumpy, quiet and lonely. Mariku hadn't said a word after the incident on the river, merely clung to Ryou as if he were the only thing in existence as they climbed the bank and drudged through the trail back towards civilization. Ryou took this as an indication that Mariku wanted to return with him to Japan, even though Mariku hadn't verbally stated such. His hands rarely left the hem of Ryou's shirt, and often grazed his arms and back in a gentle manner.

At times he would come up close behind Ryou and smell his hair, a slightly weird behavioral attitude, though Ryou understood it as a sense of desperation to stay close and revel in him. Mariku was strange, Ryou knew this. His social aptitude was terribly low, and Ryou knew that Mariku himself felt awkward and lost, but held a sense of normality around Ryou. And so Ryou kept quiet, unwilling to strangle Mariku's small amount of self confidence, delicate as it was at the moment.

Mariku had been quick to fall asleep once they headed down the road, his head against the window of the passenger's side window, skin rubbing gently against the cool, smooth surface. Otto had dug a blanket from behind the truck seat, an old itchy wool thing that smelled like oil, though Mariku didn't seem to mind. He didn't complain about his cold feet, though Ryou knew they probably stung after the numbness subsided. Ryou sat in the middle of the seat, his legs squished together, feet set next to Mariku's in the passenger's foothold so Otto could shift gears without making it too awkward. Otto hadn't questioned Ryou nor Mariku when both returned from the river, though his hands were empty. He had been unable to retrieve any of Mariku's clothing, and he was sore about it once he fully took in Mariku's state.

"Japan."

"What?"

"I live in Japan."

Otto blinked his eyes, widening them as he frowned, "That uh...might cause problems. I thought you lived here somewhere, I don't know. But Japan. Shit."

"I know. I've been thinking about everything."

"Hmm...you think you can handle him? I know you guys aren't really...well. You know. Exactly in the best of relationships, if you wanna call it that, I guess. I don't know," Otto trailed off stiffly, feeling uncomfortable, "I didn't see the room, but by the sounds of it, it was probably pretty bad."

"Yeah, it...it was pretty bad."

"...he's violent."

"Sometimes, yeah. Mostly misunderstood, I think," Ryou looked to Otto, "I didn't even ask - is this all okay with you? He's just leaving, and all the stuff at the cabin. The goats and chickens, too..." he trailed off, concerned.

"Ah, don't you worry about it. I'll get somebody out there soon enough, and if not, I'll just bring everything back out. Kid got me a good run this time. I can live off of that profit for quite awhile."

Ryou squinted at him, suddenly remembering why Otto had even brought him from Egypt, and he felt bitter towards him for it, "What about Mariku's things?"

"His things? He's only got a few books and clothes, far as I remember. Nothing too important, I don't think."

Ryou stayed quiet a moment, and stared out at the cold, white landscape as it passed by through the windows, barren and desolate. He was thinking about the guitar, but thought better of mentioning it. It was probably Otto's, and he was certain that the old man wouldn't separate with such an exquisite piece, even though Mariku had been relatively attached to it. If it really came down to it, Ryou could use some of his extra funds to buy a new one in Japan - some were rather cheap, after all. He only hoped Mariku wouldn't be overtly upset for abandoning the physical instrument he had used for so long.

"He uhm," Otto continued, "Got those books at a used book store. Bought every last one of those suckers, pretty cheap. Always thought the psychology types to be a bit creepy, if you know what I mean. It's weird, actually wanting to get into somebody else's head. Just to tell them what was wrong with them. Always reminds me of that Hannibal guy. And I thought it even weirder, considering he's not really psychologically right, himself."

"Mariku didn't want to get into somebody else's head."

"No?"

"No. He wanted to get into his own."

Otto stayed quiet a moment, taking this in, mulling things over. He had never even thought of that, and he was perturbed by this revelation, and not entirely sure if this sudden light upon Mariku's personality really sat well with him or not. He knew Mariku was smart. He learned quickly, but he had a behavioral attitude that set him back from functioning well in society. If he had gotten the books to understand himself, then...well, it made for quite an interesting improvement of character, even if the books didn't help in an obvious change of personality and mannerisms.

Otto decided to change the subject, unwilling to dwell on it too much, "How ah...how are you going to get him over there? I mean, I don't have any way to get him over there. To Japan, I mean."

Ryou looked over to Mariku, observing his strangely peaceful face, so different from the desolate expression he usually wore. And especially different from the horrifyingly twisted expression teeming with animosity that he had witnessed on the river. That unseen side of Mariku scared him, and he felt as if he didn't know the Egyptian at all. He watched as his blonde lashes fluttered gently in his sleep, his head bobbing against the window as the truck bumbled down the road. His cheeks were damp, nose and eyes red, and his hair stuck up against the seat in a fit of static cling, "I can ask a few favors, I think."

"Got friends in high places?"

"Sort of."

000

The drive was relatively long, and Otto had made a stop at a lodge along the highway to take a break and get something to eat. They had passed small towns, and the occasional cabin, otherwise the view stayed the same: white tundra, black forests and snow-covered mountains. Sterile and barbaric in its pure simplicity, and beautiful in its unyielding blaze of frozen form.

Ryou had awoken Mariku, who had been largely asleep most of the ride thus far. He had stressed himself to the point of mental and physical exhaustion, and the severe lack of sleep from the previous night made him agitated and his mind faint. Mariku was terribly lethargic, quiet and slow, and stuck close to Ryou as if he were his mother hen, afraid of losing his stronghold and protection. Otto had lent him his own jacket to wear, though he still wandered barefoot. When they had chosen a booth styled table in the restaurant part of the lodge, Mariku had gently nudged Ryou in front of him, setting him against the window as Mariku himself sat on the outside of the seat next to him. He had locked him in, a mental deliberation to keep him from leaving, from disappearing into nothing as Mariku feared he would. Otto sat across from them, taking an entire seat for himself, and he studied Mariku's wide-eyed gaze, as if he were considering everything a threat.

Neither of the boys ate much, though Ryou was glad to finally have a larger menu than eggs, milk and strange meat. The lodge itself had a low roof, and rooms off to one side, running down a hallway. A bar lay at the back end of the building, and the front was the main restaurant, with its worn seats and tables that held countless tales and lives that had passed through. The wood was a deep walnut, rustic and old, with dusty stuffed ducks and sun bleached posters riddling the walls. Ryou could catch glimpses of the cook through an open window behind the bar-like counter, a large man with his arms hairy, and for some reason, Ryou could imagine those arms bathed in sweat and sawdust. Their waitress was a tired looking doll with a fake smile, stuck in a barren wasteland where the only people who visited were violent drunkards and quiet convicts.

Otto sat across from the two boys in the booth-table, prodding at a tall glass of milk contemplatively. Ryou thought him completely at home in these surroundings, picture perfect, if he would allow. Otto caught him staring, and gave him a toothy smile through chapped lips. Ryou offered a smile back, then looked over to Mariku, studying his bare feet from beneath the table. Otto's jacket was much too big for him, and he had branches stuck in his hair, the bottom of his pantlegs still wet. He looked quite comical, and then Ryou realized he looked just as ridiculous and frumpy. Otto suddenly broke the ice, asking, "Bet that doe is hating you about now. Or did you put the kid back in the same pen?"

The question was obviously directed towards Mariku, though the tanned boy didn't show any indication that he was even aware that he was being spoken to. Ryou elbowed him gently, and Mariku looked over at him as if he were a deer caught in headlights, "Are you okay?" Ryou asked lightly, studying Mariku's debilitated state. Mariku blinked at him, ignoring the question, then looked over to Otto, "What?"

Otto's lips tightened in a mock smile, and he asked his question again.

"Same pen," Mariku mumbled.

"Good on ya. So. I hear you're heading to Japan. Leaving me all to my lonesome."

Mariku poked at his meal haphazardly, staring down at his half-eaten plate with disdain. He felt in unnecessary to answer Otto's statement, knowing full well that it wasn't a question. He mumbled quietly, a soft humming sound that he emitted from deep in his throat, guttural and rude.

Otto sighed, then looked over to Ryou. They shared a short, exasperated connection before leaving the matter as it was, though Otto had to state, "It's about another three hour drive to the main airport, if you're heading home now. I don't know what your plans are, but you can hole up in a hotel until you figure everything out, especially with him," he indicated Mariku with a bob of his head, "I can give you a bit of help if you need it, but I'm not made of money."

Ryou thought a moment, thinking it slightly amusing that Otto would even state that he wasn't made of money, even though Ryou knew he had quite a bit due to Mariku's work at the still. He almost thought him greedy, and was going to confront him over it, but then thought it stupid to do so. Ryou knew nothing of Otto's lifestyle, how he spent his money, nor should he care, and he was grateful for the offer of help. Otto had done enough with housing and defending the strange boy, and that was enough to redeem his sense of character. Ryou looked over towards the payphone on the wall, as he had been eyeing it the moment he had seen it when he walked through the door, "I just need to make a long distance phone call. I'll know from there."

"That'll be costly."

"I have a calling card."

"Ah. Alright, then."

000

"Yugi? Hi. Hey, this is Ryou."

The whitenette listened to the boy blabber on the other end of the phone, asking him an endless amount of questions and asking repeatedly if he was alright. It took a moment for Ryou to calm him down, and tell him what had happened, while still omitting most of the details.

Mainly Mariku.

"I uh...I actually need a favor."

Yugi was quick to agree to help him, and had done so just after Ryou had even finished his sentence. The boy's kindness had always been rather overbearing, and his gullibility was a staple, though Ryou was grateful for it at the moment, "I um. I need a way home. But - but I don't have any money, and my passport is gone so I can't get on a regular plane -" for a moment, he felt guilty for lying, but looking over at Mariku, sitting quietly at the table and staring intently at him, Ryou's resolve hardened. He had been difficult to coerce into letting him leave the booth, and even moreso to keep him sitting down instead of following him over to the phone, "I was wondering if you could pull a favor, for a favor? You know. With Kaiba, maybe. I mean - if not -"

Yugi broke him off, genuinely excited, and acting as though he were completely intent on getting help from his previous rival, as menial as this was. Ryou felt dumb and useless, a lame limb that needed a crutch, and he felt awful for making Yugi pick up the slack. Ryou himself didn't know Kaiba enough, and he knew the tall CEO wouldn't even bat an eyelash at his request - but if Yugi asked it - well...maybe. He wondered what Kaiba would even say, if he would even consider sending out a private plane unhindered by international passports and identity laws due to Kaiba's high status. Yugi proceeded to question where exactly Ryou was, and he felt slightly embarrassed for not even knowing. He had to ask Otto the precise location over his shoulder, to which Otto gave him a toothy smile as he answered. Ryou replied the location to Yugi, who acted as if he knew exactly where that was in the world, and he could practically see Yugi's bright eyes as he thought over the situation. They both agreed that Ryou would call back in about thirty minutes, and they could only hope an answer would be had in lieu of Kaiba's introvert temperament.

Ryou hung the phone back upon its base, and the solid click pulsed in his mind, his thoughts whirling as his stomach clenched in anticipation. He turned around, staring at Mariku, whose maelstrom eyes never dimmed, unblinking as Ryou returned to the booth. Mariku rose to let him sit against the wall again, but Ryou pushed him down, "No. Scoot over."

Mariku stalled for a moment, then did as he told, a bit miffed. He eyed Ryou warily as he sat down, then he began picking at Ryou's plate in front of him, a deep frown set upon his face.

"So?" Otto inquired, clearing his throat as he fiddled with a loose button on his jacket.

Ryou watched dazedly as those old, shaking hands fidgeted with the button, the creases in the skin dark with oil and grime, a recognition of work, of a life struck with longevity, "I have to call back in about thirty minutes. Sorry, I didn't really realize it would take so long."

Otto shook his head, "Not a problem," he set his hands on the table, one of his thumbnails black from some unknown incident. His fingers were calloused, and thick, the tips of them hard and stiff. Ryou averted his gaze, suddenly thinking of Mariku's own fingers, calloused from playing the guitar - running across his bare skin -, and cold from being outside tending to the goats - warm as they gripped his hot flesh -, harsh and violent as they butchered the caribou - soft and tender when they grasped his face for the kiss, - and then Ryou coughed, feeling his face grow hot. A massive flood of last night's memories hit him, and he felt like crawling into a hole and dying of embarrassment. Deciding to occupy his mind somewhere else, he asked, "I was wondering about the guitar."

Mariku stiffened, as if he suddenly remembered something very important, and his breathing hitched before calming again. Otto observed this with attentive insightfulness, "Beautiful thing, ain't it?"

Ryou nodded in agreement, about to say more, though Otto spoke before him, "My grandfather made that guitar from scratch when he was young. Carved that sucker out of an old oak tree. Collected all the shells himself, and cut them up real fine," Otto used his hands to speak, bobbing them and carving them through the air. His voice rose and fell, and Ryou could tell that he was proud of this story, "You saw that foxy dame on the back, yeah? That was my grandmother. He loved that woman so damn much. He made that guitar as a testament to their love, to his love for her. He'd sing to her and play that guitar, and she was smitten. Though what rightful woman wouldn't be? Man makes a goddamn guitar with your image on it, you better love him!" he laughed.

Otto stalled a moment, sniffling and scratching at his beard, "Then the war came. The first World War, if that tells you how old that thing is. He was drafted. Never came back. But he left a baby in her belly, and that baby grew up to be my pa, and she gave that guitar to him when he got older. He sang and played on that guitar to his own sweetheart, and then he was drafted in the second World War. Never came back. But like his daddy, he left a baby in his sweetheart's belly, and that baby was me. When I got that guitar I sang and played it for my own sweetheart, and when Vietnam came around I, as you can probably guess, was drafted. Left a baby in her belly like my daddy and granddaddy before me," he stalled again, picking at the veneer on the table, "But I came back. I. Came. Back."

Otto went quiet, sniffling softly as he rubbed his hands together, "But then I found out that the baby died, and my sweetheart died, and then I died." He shrugged forlornly, "I died right then and there. I survived shrapnel, gunfire, the horrid humidity with all the sickness. But I came back, damn it all," Otto cleared his throat, his eyes distant as he stared out the window. His brows were furrowed, and he mumbled again, "Damn it all. I came back. To what? Death and a cursed guitar."

Ryou frowned heavily, uncertain if this story was even true. It almost sounded as if it were a tall tale, something interesting yet harsh. Who would have told Otto where the guitar had come from, its story from the beginning? The women, perhaps. His mother, his grandmother. This made more sense as he stuck the puzzle together, though he still doubted its authenticity. But the raw, dejected expression on Otto's face told otherwise, and the quivering tones of his voice held an abysmal sea of loneliness and heartache. A man without a father, whose love and child had died, circling around this instrument in a never-ending cycle of life and death. If it was true - then the guitar held more sentimental value to Otto than Ryou had even known of.

"You serious?" Ryou blurted, unable to hold it back.

Otto suddenly looked over to him, offended at the sudden question of his story. It had been a simple rendition, but it was still his, and his alone. His life, a small piece of his existence that ultimately grounded him to his problems and woes. "You take me for a liar, boy?"

Ryou's eyes widened and he shook his head violently, "NO. No."

Otto twitched his head to the side, his voice gaining some light, "Kept that guitar, even though I was pretty certain the sucker was cursed. But I didn't want it around. It reminded me too much of her, to much of the war. Too much of the pa I never had, who played that guitar before me. It reminded me too much of what I lost. So I put it out in the old cabin. Out of sight, out of mind."

Ryou stared at the swirls in the table, upset with himself and feeling utterly somber. He'd dare not mention the guitar again, though he had to wonder if Mariku knew of this story.

"What was her name?"

Mariku's voice was level and thick, a sudden, loud shot, and both Otto and Ryou looked over to him in surprise. It was the only thing he had uttered in the past few hours, and it was a remarkably intimate question. Ryou looked back to Otto, wondering if he would even answer him.

"Her name?" Otto squinted.

"Your sweetheart. What was her name?"

Otto stared at Mariku, studying his interest with a sense of oddity. The boy stared back unblinking, his eyes cold and curious.

"Mary. Her name was Mary," he decided to amuse the boy.

Mariku looked down to the table, and the trio sat in silence for some time, grief-stricken and reserved. The waitress clicked her way over to them, offering coffee refills, to which all three agreed to. The hot drink burned their lips and warmed their throat and bellies, chasing away the cold that had settled in their hearts.

"How long has it been? Since I called my friend, I mean."

"'Bout time. Go ahead and call again," Otto replied.

Ryou rose from the seat, grimacing as his body twinged, and he side-stepped over to the phone again, whipping the calling card out of his pocket. He dialed Yugi's number, listening to the invasive ringing curl into his mind. Each ring was a denial to his request, a large, brick wall in front of the only pathway he could think of. Hope was lost to him until Yugi's grandfather answered the phone, and he heard banters in the background.

Eventually Yugi's voice met Ryou's ear, and Ryou felt his belly knot, a lump sticking into his throat, "Hey. So..." he trailed off, listening. "Mokuba? Oh. Okay. Where - um. Where should we go from here? I mean -" Yugi interrupted him again with answers, and Ryou looked over to Otto, asking him if he knew where the town Yugi had stated was located. He fumbled at first, speaking in Japanese before switching to English. Otto nodded at him, raising his brows. Yugi continued to rapid-fire inform him of locations and times, people and names, and Ryou was utterly overwhelmed. Ryou had a hard time translating the quick words over to Otto, though Otto seemed to understand where to go and what to do.

Thanking Yugi profusely, Ryou finally hung up the phone, staring at the dial in apprehension. He turned around to stare at Otto, "We have about six hours, I guess."

"Until what?" Otto furrowed his brows.

Ryou looked over to Mariku, who was staring at him with glassy eyes, tired and lost, Otto's coat looking ridiculous on his lithe frame, "Until we can go home."

000

Otto had relinquished his time to the boys, driving slowly to their destination and attempting to make small talk, asking for Ryou's mailing address and phone number. At times they would stop on the side of the road over some lookout point, or sit inside old restaurants. Mariku had fallen asleep again, the gentle cruising lulling him, as if he hadn't a care in the world, though Ryou knew that wasn't the case. He knew the Egyptian's mind was probably in turmoil, a mental exhaustion that taxed him physically as well. They often left him in the truck, unwilling to wake him more times than they needed to.

Ryou was excited to finally be going home, though he was apprehensive and uncertain with Mariku's constant presence. He knew he would have to watch him, and correct him for mistaken deeds, or things he would say or indicate when it was entirely inappropriate. He had been alone with him in the cabin for so long, with just the two of him, that was uncertain how he would react to the large city of Domino, and the public.

It would be even more difficult to keep him a secret from Yugi and his friends.

They passed several more small towns, the winding road curving around the bases of mountains, and running alongside a river. The endless trees were a constant presence, looming over them from the sides of the road, dark and overbearing. Everything looked the same, though it was all overwhelmingly beautiful, cold and wild. Eventually, at the base of a hill, Otto turned at a light, coming off of the main highway into the heart of a sleepy town, then curving off onto a backroad.

"What is this?" Ryou looked around, wondering if they were making another pitstop.

"This is the airport."

Ryou gawked, finding the airport to be beneath his standards. It was exceptionally small, with only one main building that resembled a storage unit. It only held private bush planes, with a few small hangars and a small runway that strung out towards the mountains. It was nothing like the airport he had been to when he first arrived here, "Really?"

"Yup. This is it. Now, this isn't the main airport around here, that one's about another hour away. But this is the one your friend said to come to, so this is the one we're at."

Ryou took it for what it was worth, and wondered if their plane home had arrived yet. He kept eyeing the planes, then at a glance, he caught the large 'KC' logo painted against one side, and could barely stifle his grin. It was much larger than the others, new and bulky. He pointed it out to Otto, and the old man removed himself from the truck, humming at Ryou to wake Mariku once more.

000

The skies were dark, the sea below a dark abyss. The stars were visible above the clouds, shining brightly against the darkness, and Mariku stared out the window, his mind foggy as he slowly became more coherent to his surroundings. He was in a state of disbelief, thinking that he was dreaming. He was in one of Kaiba's private, luxury planes, sent out by the CEO's younger brother, most likely under the nose of Seto himself. Mariku was high above the world, leaving all of its problems and woes beneath his very feet, and he felt a serene calmness overtake him. It was here that he realized that it was near impossible for him to recall what had happened over the past few hours. He scarcely remembered flashes of anger, loud noises, cold, and Ryou. Ryou, who took all his pain away. Who grounded him like a chain.

Ryou himself lay next to him, slumbering in the fully reclined seat, a half-empty cup of cider on the table beside him, his blue bag by his feet. His lips were parted slightly, hands curled as his body stretched languidly. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, and caught up on his sleep as Mariku had done in the truck, and Mariku didn't mind the quiet.

This had all happened because of a plane - his meeting Ryou, his being here currently next to him. Of course, it was entirely a coincidental incident, but it had happened, and he felt strangely attached to the idea of planes. And here he was, riding in a plane, back to Japan. With Ryou. He wasn't particularly sorry for leaving Otto behind, though he knew full well that he would probably never see the man again. He would, however, miss his seclusion, the quiet hush of the expansive wilderness. His time alone had dissipated into the air, and he knew he could never go back. He wouldn't miss the chickens, nor the goats, nor the cold snow when it somehow found its way into his boots. He also wouldn't miss the taxing hunting, and his forced labor in the still. The cabin had a dark, somber atmosphere, mimicking the surrounding range of scenery, and though he reveled in the desolate area, he found that he had been lonely. Ryou had shown him this, and Ryou had broken him.

He showed the difference between solitude and loneliness.

Mariku's thoughts drifted to the guitar, and a hard pang hit his chest. He had grown attached to it, more than he originally thought. He felt despairing anxiety as he thought of leaving it, of never playing it again. He had dabbled with other guitars when in town before, old beaten up things used for karaoke and small festivals, but they never had the same sound. They lacked that certain tone, a type of poison that was toxic and held you under its spell, and they never felt right in his hands. They didn't sing. They growled.

Upset, he thought of the story Otto had told him of the guitar. He knew nothing of the wars Otto mentioned, nor did he fully understand the story itself, but he knew Otto liked the guitar, even though he had left it alone for so many years, cold and neglected. Mariku wondered how the old man would fare with him being gone, without anyone running the still, taking care of the cabin and animals. Otto had been teary-eyed when Ryou and Mariku had left for the plane, bitter as he scolded Mariku for being an idiot. Telling him to behave, not to mess everything up. He seemed angry, and the fierce hug Mariku received after Otto's chiding confused him, though he took it in stride. He returned the borrowed jacket and wandered, listlessly, shirtless and barefoot, after Ryou into the plane.

The pilot had eyed them in blatant surprise, most likely expecting some bigwig in a nice suit, instead to find his passengers two haphazard boys in dirty, torn clothes, some of their garments missing.

Mariku allowed himself a small snicker at this thought, then leaned himself back into his seat, rolling his head to the side to stare at Ryou's sleeping form. Weary and faint, he reached his hand out to pull at the twigs still stuck in the boy's stark white hair, gently untangling them before tossing them to the floor. He began playing with Ryou's hair, twisting the soft locks around his fingers, sliding them between his fingertips. Ryou lay oblivious to his ministrations, and Mariku suddenly felt stupid.

What was he doing?

Going to Japan, that's what he was doing. Leaving everything behind - everything he had grown to know and enjoy, to a certain degree. He would no longer be alone. In Japan he knew he would be around people. Lots of people.

Certain people.

People that hated him.

000

"...and this is my room."

Ryou indicated this tiny area with a sweep of his arm, at the end of the tour of his apartment. From Kaiba's personal hangar, they had taken a cab to Ryou's home, the sun lowering over the horizon. The time difference was something that amazed Ryou, and he fumbled with his speech when talking with the cab driver, mumbling his destination in English instead of Japanese. Mariku had been strangely quiet during the ride, unwilling to even look out the windows of the car, his head resting on the back of the cab driver's seat. Ryou wasn't sure how the Egyptian would fare in the area alone, with nothing much to do except watch TV and read old magazines. He wondered if the boy would leave the apartment to go for walks, and he thought it might be somewhat disastrous. He was like a child, needing guidance, and Ryou felt stupid for being around someone like that.

The refrigerator needed to be restocked, as the food Ryou had left behind before his trip had rotted, though there were still dry goods in the cupboards and a few things in the freezer. A small layer of dust had settled over his belongings, though he didn't care too much at the moment. All of his plants were still alive, due to the diligence of Yugi, though he wondered what the small boy thought when Ryou didn't return when he was scheduled to.

Ryou had been quick to establish Mariku's sleeping quarters: the couch. He had thrown an extra blanket upon it, along with a pillow, and showed Mariku how to use the TV and remote, located directly in front of the couch. He showed him where all the dishes and silverware were in the kitchen, along with snack foods that were still fresh in the cupboards. Mariku had followed him around the apartment like a puppy, quiet and curious.

Though he had slept most of the flight home, Ryou was still deathly tired, and he knew he would have a hard time getting back on schedule with Japan's timezone, but he figured sleeping now would be best, so he could get up early the next day. He knew he would have an even harder time catching up on his schoolwork, something that he would have to get involved with immediately if he wished to redeem himself with his teachers.

"I'm going to bed."

At this statement, Mariku rose his head, though he kept his eyes to the floor. He sniffled once, then watched as Ryou left the living room to wander into his own quarters. The door closed gently behind him, and Mariku stood dumbly, staring at the door as if it had shut off his life support. He stood there a long time, mulling things over in his head, then looked at the horribly uninviting couch, alight with the TV's rays.

Stubbornly, he tip-toed to Ryou's room, then slowly, tentatively opened the door. Ryou lay in his small bed, curled against the wall, his breaths heavy and long. His blanket swirled around his form, cascading over him in gentle folds. For a moment, Mariku stared, wide-eyed like an owl, listening to the incoherent murmurs from the TV behind him. He quietly stepped forward, his bare feet barely touching the floor, toes scraping the carpet. Once to the side of the bed, he curved his body down next to Ryou's, snaking himself around him, encompassing his arms and limps as he snuggled close, resting his forehead against the whitenette's. The boy awoke, mumbling irritably at him, telling him to go away, but he paid no heed. Agitated but tired, Ryou drifted back to sleep, unable to deal with Mariku's current attachment, and quite liking the warmth he provided.

They slept liberally, minds heavy, though they held an acute sense of belonging. They curled into each other, and in the delirium of sleep, they could both comprehend the person sleeping next to them. Ryou was no longer alone his apartment, suffering from abandonment and loneliness. Mariku was no longer alone in the cabin, no longer festering in the shadows like some stagnant, rotten organism. They were both at peace, and lay serenely next to each other, embracing each other in a knot of bent limbs, their futures uncertain.

000

NO, this isn't the end. Two of my friends were like "omg is it over? no. no, you said RUSTSHIPPING, YOU WHORE"

No. No, it's not the end. Jesus. Calm down. Why would you even think that?

Random: I can see Mokuba in Africa doing relief efforts. I can SEE HIM DOING THIS.

He's such a good kid, but he's going to be a horrible businessman if he donates all of his profits to charity. I CAN ALSO SEE HIM DOING THIS.

And then there's Seto...who turned down being a badass warlord dick to instead become a badass gamelord dick who makes toys.

Seriously who does that. "Oh, I inherited a weapons dealing job with contracts still hot and ready and I have the cunning to make everything work. I got balls, too, and bitches love balls. But, nah. Imma make TOYS. TOYS AND AMUSEMENT PARKS AND FUN FOREVER AND EVER EVEN THOUGH I'M SUPER MEAN ABOUT EVERYTHING HUR HUR DUR."

And then he's all super cereal about everything. "Oh. God. I lost at a children's card game to some kid. My life. Is officially. Meaningless."

Kid's got problems. And you know it.

-coughmichaeljacksoncomplexcough-

Also, why isn't there more deathshipping? This depresses me horribly. I can't even find new stuff on tumblr or dA that often. This makes me a sad panda. THIEFSHIPPING, GET OUT OF THE SPOTLIGHT YOU ATTENTION WHORE.

Also: Yes, Otto's story is real, or at least based on a story I've heard. When I was camping as a kid, an old man who could play the harmonica like a badass got drunk as fuck and told everybody at the campfire his wallowing story. And then he started grossly sobbing and everything got awkward and sad, but the story always stuck with me. I don't even know the guy's name, or if he's even still alive. Random campfire drunks ftw!

K ilu bb plz review?


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